Scotty turned back towards Raines. His features hardened as his eyes narrowed. For a man who didn’t give much away, the slight movement of facial muscles spoke volumes.
“Gabby told me about the fire,” he said, standing up. “Now I’m done answering questions. Last time I tried to assist the police, it wasn’t the best experience. Holly Jakes could teach the CIA something about interrogation tactics.”
Raines looked him square in the eye. “Can you give me the addresses to the houses Beaupré used?”
“Don’t see why not if Gabby is okay with it. I need to dig around for them.”
Raines stood up, pulled a card from his wallet and placed it on the desk. “Here’s my email address.” He walked over to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned. “We’ve asked Gabby to let us handle it, but I know that’s not going to happen. Can you dissuade her from following him?”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Scotty muttered and shrugged. “Proverbs aside, I have her six.” His tone suggested he would take a threat to Gabby’s life seriously.
Chapter Eleven
Unlike Raines, who’d found Scotty Pepper in a matter of minutes, Holly hadn’t been so lucky. Robert Beaupré wasn’t home, and she’d failed to reach the Milbournes on the number Gabby had given her. After calling Chief Finch to update him, she decided to head home to shower and change.
As she turned onto her street, she stifled a groan. Her boyfriend’s truck was parked in her driveway. She hadn’t expected—nor had she wanted—to find Boonie still there. He’d been angry all week because she’d volunteered to work the third shift for Lieutenant Gustafson, who was at home recovering from surgery. The rumor running rampant around the department was that he’d had hemorrhoid surgery, which seemed fitting because he was a royal pain in the ass.
Boonie’s biggest complaint—and a legit one at that, she acknowledged—was she’d forgotten about their Friday night movie date. Right before her shift started, he’d come over to smooth things out. Instead, he complained about her covering for Gustafson when she didn’t like him. She explained again how her Jeep needed new tires, and she needed money to pay for them, but that had done nothing to appease him. He’d accused her of prizing a set of four Goodyears over their relationship.
She felt herself getting mad all over again. Did he really think she wanted to work on a Friday night? Especially for Lieutenant Gustafson, who took immense pleasure in making her life miserable, because he viewed her as a threat to his ascension as police chief once Fred Finch retired. But she needed those damn tires. Winter was coming, and bald tires on snowy mountain roads virtually guaranteed a trip to the morgue. Her safety should matter more to him than a damn date.
She sighed, forcing herself to calm down. In fairness to Boonie, the truth was she would rather work an arson case than spend a night at home watching a movie with him. She bit her lip. That didn’t bode well for their relationship. Especially not when he learned she planned to head right back to work.
She considered banging a U-turn, but she stank of smoke and her tired muscles craved hot water. Pulling into her driveway on the far side of his pickup, she almost drove over his landscaping equipment, which was spread all over her parking space. Apparently, he’d removed it from the bed of his pickup, so he could clean both the truck and tools. God forbid, she muttered to herself, that he put it back in his precious truck while the equipment was still wet. She pulled up to the curb. Why couldn’t he have cleaned it at his house? He had a hose. He had a driveway.
When she entered the kitchen, her mood didn’t improve. She frowned at the mess she hadn’t bothered to tidy before going on duty the night before. Cereal boxes, mail, newspapers and dirty dinner plates cluttered the table. She placed her gun belt on the only free area on the counter.
“Hey there,” came a deep voice from behind her.
Holly jumped. “Jeez! You scared the hell out of me.”
He grinned, which she took as a good sign. His square-jawed face, tanned from working outside most of the year, was ruggedly handsome. He looked like a Midwest farmer of Nordic descent. “You knew I was here. My truck’s parked out front.”
“I know, but I thought you were still in bed.” He’d showered and was ready for work, for which she gave silent thanks. Boonie usually worked on Saturdays during fall cleanup. “Are you heading out?” She almost crossed her fingers.
“I’m in no hurry,” he said, adding with a trace of sulkiness, “Your shift ended later than usual.”
It was a dig, but she decided to ignore it. She didn’t have time for an argument. “Will you be busy all day?” She hoped he was booked solid.
“Pretty much. I ran a load of laundry. Man, my work clothes stank. Hope that was okay. I tossed in a few of your things.”
While she prayed he hadn’t tossed in her white shirts with his dirty jeans, she desperately needed clean underwear and glanced around the untidy room for a basket full of her undies. She didn’t spot any. “How’s your mom doing?” she asked.
“I think the chemo is working.”
She knew this was wishful thinking. The doctor said his mother had a few months at most. “That’s great news, Boonie.”
Pressing his lips together, he nodded.
She rubbed her neck.
“Tough night?” he asked.
She sighed. Except for the presence of Raines, it had been pretty exciting, but she couldn’t tell him that. “It was a long night.”
“Want a breakfast beer?”
“Very funny.”
He walked over to her and kissed the top of her head. He smelled soapy and fresh. His hair was still damp. He was a man’s man, not one for small talk, someone who preferred fishing and hunting to sitting around at home. He was broad and sturdy with strong, capable hands. He liked to take care of things, and after making decisions all day at work, she found that attractive about him.
He wrinkled his nose. “Your hair stinks of smoke.”
“There was a house fire.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Don’t think so, but it’s arson.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“That’s too bad. Whose place is it?”
She leaned against the counter. “The Milbournes. It’s their vacation home.”
“Milbourne? I’ve heard the name someplace. Struck me as fancy at the time.” He rubbed the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “Now I remember. Gavin Parrish got into it with a woman called Milbourne one night down at The Muddy Paw. Claimed she stiffed him on a landscaping job he’d done for them.”
“What happened?”
“Not sure, but if I know Gav, he probably underbid the job, and screwed it up when they gave him the work. Does it all the time. He’s such a jackass.”
“That’s good to know.” She’d busted Gavin Parrish on a DWI her rookie year with the department. He was a first-class jerk.
Boonie leaned forward and tugged at the scrunchie holding up her ponytail. Hair, the color of rich honey, fell around her shoulders. His voice turned husky as he said, “Don’t informants usually get paid?”
She laughed. “That’s not a line item in the Chief’s budget.”
“But Officer, I just gave you a great lead, surely it’s worth something.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“How about you follow me to the bedroom, and I’ll tell you in there?”
If she had time to do anything in the bedroom, it would involve deep sleep. “I wish I could, but I don’t have long. I just came home to shower and change.”
The amused expression on his face disappeared. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled but didn’t sound it. She couldn’t wait to get busy with her case.
The muscle under his left eye twitched. “How come you’d rather risk your life for a complete stranger than spend a few hours with me?”
He was referring to an incident the week before. She�
��d disarmed a drunken, bear hunter who was threatening his wife with a loaded Remington because she refused to grind his freshly killed game into sausages.
Holly stared at him, thinking. He was right. And he needed her right now. His mother was dying. What fundamental human emotion did she lack that she’d rather work than stay home with him?
“It’s the silent treatment, then? That’s just typical,” he muttered as he picked up his keys from the kitchen table and headed for the door.
She should stop him. Apologize. Tell him she’d make it up to him next weekend, but the door slammed shut before she had a chance to say anything.
Chapter Twelve
Half an hour later, Holly shoved a Dunkin’ Donuts’ Munchkin into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, sighed with pleasure, and sucked the sugar off her index finger and thumb. Although she’d been sitting in her Jeep outside Robert Beaupré’s house for barely two minutes, she’d managed to scoff down four Munchkins. Her excuse was that she needed to sweeten her foul mood after the confrontation she’d had with Boonie.
The way he’d stormed out of her house and possibly her life should have concerned her more than it did. For someone the Chief had nicknamed the “Domestic Goddess” due to her skill at defusing domestic violence calls, she was a master at detonating her own relationships.
She glanced down at the remaining donuts. Any more and she’d have to run an extra five miles instead of her usual ten. Shrugging, she picked up the two glazed and popped them both into her mouth chipmunk style—one for each cheek.
At that precise moment, her passenger door opened, and Raines looked in. Glancing up at him, she knew with a sinking feeling that her cheeks were puffed out with the fried mounds of dough.
He grinned. “Am I interrupting something? I can leave if you’d rather be alone with your donuts.”
Holly tried to swallow but ended up choking on them. She put a hand to her mouth and coughed. Water welled up in her eyes.
Laughing, Raines slid into the seat beside her and waited for her to recover. There was a glint in his eye that wasn’t put there by the morning sun.
When she could finally speak, she muttered, “You’re such a jerk, Raines.” She closed the lid on the remaining donuts and placed the box on the backseat. She’d save them for lunch.
“I know. I just can’t help myself.”
She glared at him and reached for the coffee cup that she’d placed on the dashboard. While she’d indulged herself with the donuts, it had steamed up the window. “Did you find Scotty?”
He nodded and relayed their conversation.
Listening, she carefully removed the plastic lid, held the cup to her nose and sniffed.
Raines smirked. “You’re supposed to drink it, not snort it like a coke fiend who’s running on empty.”
“It’s too hot to drink, and I need a fix.”
“Why didn’t you ask them to add a couple of ice cubes to cool it down?” he suggested.
She frowned.
“What?” he asked.
“I know I need sleep when I think you have a good idea.”
He chuckled. “Did you reach the Milbournes?”
“No. I left a couple of messages. Angel is trying to find another contact number for them.”
“Did you speak with Beaupré?” he asked.
“Not yet. I stopped by earlier, but he wasn’t here. I tried his office, too. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s up in Canada.”
“How well do you know him?” Raines asked.
“I’ve met him at different town functions. He’s flashy and fond of gold jewelry. Thinks highly of himself, or at least he comes across that way. He moved up here from Massachusetts, maybe five years ago to work for Nancy Taggart. Beaupré took over her real estate business when she was killed in a hit and run.”
“Was that the hit and run back in February on the highway? Looked like a snowplow hit her.”
“That’s the one. The Medical Examiner said the injuries were consistent with being hit by a plow, and it happened on the highway a few miles south of Caxton during a snowstorm.”
“Gustafson’s lead, right?” Raines asked.
“Yes. Except the state police interviewed the highway maintenance crews. Gustafson and Angel Natale spoke to the local snowplow operators.” She didn’t tell him the case should have been hers, but the Chief had handed it over to the Lieutenant, who’d insisted on working it because Nancy Taggart had been his friend. That had been eight months ago, and it still stung.
“Does he have any leads?”
She shook her head.
“Interesting that two major incidents this year have connections to Beaupré,” Raines observed.
“Yes. Isn’t it? And something else that’s interesting is that I spoke to Nancy Taggart last year about one of the properties she managed. The owner complained someone had been in her cabin without permission. It was dirty when the owner arrived. Nancy claimed she hadn’t rented it, so it should have been clean. There were junk food wrappers on the kitchen counter and a pack of toilet rolls missing. I think it was kids because a house was TPed the following night.” Holly took a tentative sip of her coffee and found it cool enough to drink.
She sat in silence for a few minutes watching Beaupré’s house. After what Boonie mentioned about Gavin Parrish’s run-in with someone named Milbourne, she’d wanted to track Parrish down, but the Chief told her to stay on Beaupré. Still keeping her eyes trained on the house, she decided to fill Raines in on what she’d learned from Boonie.
“Is Parrish the type to set a fire?” Raines asked after she’d finished.
“It’s a possibility, especially after he’s been on a bender. Parrish is a real creep and a habitual offender. Drinks and disturbs the peace worse than a group of frat boys after they’ve skied hard all day and partied all night. He’s had a couple of DWI convictions, a few disorderly conducts, and he was sentenced to probation a few years ago after a brawl at The Highlander. Since then, he’s watched his step. I hear he knocks his wife around, but she hasn’t filed any charges, and we haven’t caught him in the act.”
Raines said, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and get to go a few rounds with him.”
As he said this, Holly’s phone started ringing. It was Charles Milbourne. She put him on speaker. When she began to explain to him what had happened, he cut her off.
“A fire? Oh, my God. What about my wife? Is she okay?”
Holly noted he sounded surprised and genuinely concerned, which was an important first impression he was most likely unaware he’d just made. “Your wife?” she asked.
“Yes. Mimi drove up to our cabin yesterday. I’m about to leave home to join her.”
“She doesn’t appear to be there.” Holly prayed they wouldn’t find her remains in the house.
“What do you mean? She has to be there. She left me a message last night to say she’d arrived at the cabin.” His words picked up speed. “She’s not, I mean, you would know, wouldn’t you, if someone had been trapped in the fire?”
“The fire department has conducted a preliminary search of the property, and they have not found either your wife or a vehicle.”
“That’s good. That’s really good news.”
“What type of car does she drive?” Holly asked.
“A Porsche Cayenne Turbo. It’s blue, her favorite color. I just bought it for her as an anniversary present.”
Not too bad, Holly thought as she pulled out her notebook to jot down the information. Who wouldn’t want a Porsche for an anniversary present? “Do you know the plate number?”
It took him a moment, but he found it.
“Did she have children with her?”
“No. We don’t have kids. Where could she be? Did you check the hospital?” he asked.
“Yes, but nothing has been reported. May I have her mobile number?”
He gave it to her, as well as his number.
“Was there a reason why she came up here on her own?”
“I had a business dinner last night, and she didn’t want to wait for me. She loves it up there,” he rambled. “She enjoys listening to audiobooks on the ride. It’s how she unwinds.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a stockbroker, but I fail to see how that’s relevant.”
“I’m just trying to get as much information as possible.” Holly paused and softened her tone. “Has your wife been depressed or troubled recently?”
“Good Lord, no. Mimi is a contented woman. Nothing undermines her spirit.”
“Could she be visiting a friend in the area?” Or a boyfriend, she thought.
“The only people we socialize with up north are the Allens and the Richmonds, but they don’t live up there, and they’re not there this weekend. I believe Maybeth Allen is on the Cape managing a hotel she’s building, and the Richmonds are touring vineyards in Australia. However, Mimi does have several close friends down here. Perhaps one of them invited her over at the last minute, and she forgot to tell me. That must be it. I’ll make some calls,” he said, apparently forgetting his wife left a message telling him she’d already arrived at the cabin.
Holly knew desperate people could overlook just about anything to come up with a preferable explanation. Or perhaps he’d been lying about the message, but she encouraged him to check. Maybe one of her friends had spoken to Mimi last night. “Please call me back as soon as you’ve spoken with them.”
“Of course.” He hung up without another word.
She dialed Mimi’s cell, got her voicemail and left another message. Disconnecting, she said, “We need to find her vehicle. It’s possible the firefighters missed something the size of a body in the rubble, but there’s no way they would have missed an SUV.” She called dispatch to request a BOLO on the Porsche and updated Chief Finch.
Afterward, Raines said, “If someone stole the Porsche, we should have found Mimi there.”
Holly jumped as her phone rang. It was Charles Milbourne. She put him on speaker again so that Raines could hear. Milbourne’s voice was taut with panic. None of Mimi’s friends had heard from her. She hadn’t called any family members, either. He’d called them all, which couldn’t have been too many people given the speed of the callback. He didn’t show any concern for the property, just for his wife’s safety. He told her that he was on his way and to let him know if there was any news.
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