Lonesome Lake

by Lesley Appleton-Jones

  “This had better be good,” she muttered, not caring who was on the other end.

  It was dispatch. “Sorry to disturb you, Sergeant.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.”

  “Um… The Chief wants to see you. There’s been a development in the case.”

  Holly pushed herself up to a sitting position and wrapped the comforter around her. Twenty-four hours earlier she would have sprung to her feet at the news, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

  She stared at the clock. Four thirty. It had to be a cruel joke. It was still dark out and would be for another couple of hours. “Tell me you’re kidding?”

  “I’m not.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “All I know is the Chief told me to call you in ASAP.”

  “What about Detective Raines over at the Sheriff’s Department?”

  “He’s my next call.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  ◆◆◆

  It was still dark when Holly arrived at the police station. Raines pulled in beside her. He’d taken the time to shower and change while she’d opted for sleep. Feeling sweaty and grimy, she prayed she wasn’t emitting any offensive odors. Not only did he look good, but he smelled wonderful—something masculine with notes of cedar and citrus. She fought the urge to sniff her pits. “It’s a full house,” she said, looking around the parking lot.

  He yawned. “At this time of the morning, I’m hoping for a royal flush.”

  Holly shook her head and opened the door.

  Chief Finch was waiting for them in the conference room. He didn’t waste time on a greeting. “Hendricks tracked down Milbourne’s secretary, Claudia Schuyler. His alibi didn’t hold up. He claimed he was working late at the office, but she told Hendricks that Milbourne left the office right at five, which they confirmed by checking the security footage.”

  Wide awake now, Holly leaned forward, arms on the table. “That’s a surprise. He seemed too smart to lie about something so easy to check. I’ll find him and bring him in for round two.”

  “Too late,” the Chief told her. “He’s already in with Hendricks and Gustafson. They wanted in on the action. Hendricks is convinced he has his guy, and the Mayor’s happy as a clam at high tide that this is shaping up to be a domestic.”

  The muscles in Holly’s shoulders tensed. “I’m lead on this. I should have had another shot at him.”

  “You told me you didn’t think this was a domestic, so stop griping!”

  Holly was about to let him have it when Lieutenant Gustafson waddled into the room like a drunk, bow-legged duck. He placed a large, donut-shaped cushion on a seat before carefully lowering himself down, grimacing as he did.

  Andy Gustafson nodded to Raines but ignored her. This was nothing new. He didn’t like her and referred to her as “Shaky Jakey” whenever he could get away with it—even if she were in earshot. Their problems had started before the Chief hired her. He’d tried to trip her up during the interview by belittling her, excusing his behavior by claiming she’d have to deal with worse on the job. While working patrol, he made it his mission to find fault with her appearance and performance. He fought her promotions and complained she only made detective because the Chief favored her. Fred Finch had been overheard at a Christmas party saying she would be Caxton’s first female police chief. This hadn’t gone over well with Gustafson, who planned to ascend to the throne as soon as the Chief retired. Holly glanced down at Gustafson’s inflatable cushion and thought he’d need a padded throne given his medical condition.

  At that moment, Gustafson shifted uncomfortably on his cushion, causing it to squeak. He cleared his throat as a cover and said, “Milbourne lawyered up. He refused to answer any questions and walked out. Hendricks got a call from a contact at the Mass State Police. They located a couple of people who work with Milbourne, and he’s heading down to Boston to interview them.” He turned to look at Holly before adding, “Hendricks said that he’d keep me posted.”

  She knew he wanted it to get under her skin, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  The Chief asked, “What did he say before he lawyered up? Anything to contradict the story he gave Holly?”

  Gustafson shook his head. “Nothing. Milbourne came in. Sat down. Hendricks asked him to go over what he’d done on Friday. Then Milbourne stood up, told us to talk to his lawyer and walked out. He’s a smug bastard.”

  “What do you make of it?” Finch asked Holly.

  “During our interview, he showed obvious signs of discomfort when discussing his work.”

  Raines nodded his agreement and added, “But he didn’t come off as defensive or even evasive when talking about his wife.”

  Finch leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his belly. “We’ll see what Hendricks comes up with on the Milbourne front. In the meantime, we’ll work the other leads. Gus will continue to liaise with Hendricks as well as track down and interview Gavin Parrish.”

  Gustafson said with more than a hint of arrogance, “Consider it done.”

  “While Gus is doing that,” Finch told them, “I want you and Raines to interview Beaupré. I’ve spoken to my contact at the DEA, and they don’t have anything on him. We think the best strategy is for you to talk to Beaupré about what he did for the Milbournes. He’d be suspicious if we didn’t since he’s their property manager. Just don’t mention drugs. We’re setting up a task force to work that angle.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The rising sun glinted in through the windshield, forcing Holly to squint up at the red traffic light. She yawned and tried, without much success, to stop thinking about her flannel-swaddled bed and her fluffy pillows. She needed to focus on how best to question Bob Beaupré, but her exhausted neurons failed her. Three hours hadn’t been enough sleep, and she was so tired she couldn’t come up with a damn thing that resembled an interview strategy.

  Picking up her steaming coffee from the cup holder, she glanced over at Raines. He didn’t appear to be the slightest bit tired. Unlike her, he’d probably slept like a baby without a care in the world. After all, it wasn’t his neck in the noose if they blew it.

  Holly supposed that his former life as a hard-partying rock star served him well now. He was used to pulling all-nighters. In fact, she mused, the ability to function after whooping it up all week had to be a prerequisite for entry into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

  She wondered if he was thinking about his bed and whether he preferred flannel sheets to cotton. No. Given his playboy reputation, his sheets would be black silk. She almost snorted out loud at the thought but caught herself just in time.

  “It’s green,” Raines said, snapping her out of her reverie.

  Startled, Holly jumped and spilled coffee all over her leg. It burned like a lump of coal from hell. Groaning, she yanked the fabric away from her skin to let it cool. Someone honked behind her, and she had to fight real hard not to flip them off.

  Without saying a word, Raines handed her a wad of McDonald’s napkins that were stuffed in the door pocket for just such emergencies. She dabbed at the wet spot. Luckily, she was wearing black pants. Coming up through patrol, Holly learned to wear clothing that hid the spills that inevitably came with spending so much time eating and drinking in the car.

  Raines smiled. “You’re jumpy.”

  “I’m just analyzing the case,” she lied. Was she losing it? Why the hell was she thinking about what type of sheets Cal Raines preferred when she should be coming up with interview questions? And if she were going to spend time thinking about any man’s sheets, those sheets should be Boonie’s. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. She needed sleep.

  “So, did you learn anything new about Beaupré?” he ventured once she’d finished dabbing at her leg.

  Earlier, she’d called Angel to talk about Beaupré. “Angel knows him from church. Beaupré is divorced with two boys who live with their mother in Beverly, Mass. He moved his mother up here a few year
s ago and appears to take good care of her. Angel said there were rumors he bought the real estate business for under a hundred thousand dollars after Nancy Taggart died in that hit and run.”

  As she talked, she moved through the lights and turned onto Beaupré’s street.

  Raines changed the topic. “What do you think about Milbourne?”

  “I’m surprised he lied about being at work. He had to have known that would be the first thing we’d check. I didn’t like him for it. He’s not in good shape, so I didn’t see him hiking up to Lonesome Lake. Plus, if he hired someone to do it, you’d think he’d have his alibi sown up.”

  Raines asked, “And if we add Nancy Taggart into the equation?”

  Holly pulled up to the curb outside Beaupré’s home and said, “The coincidence bothers me as well. Two women who knew each other are killed in North Caxton. What are the odds they’re not connected?”

  Raines unbuckled his seatbelt. “And if we connect them, the case against Milbourne is much weaker. Unless he benefitted somehow from the death of both women.”

  Holly pulled the key out of the ignition. “Whoever killed them is cunning and patient. Nancy’s death looked like a random hit and run. Eight months later, the killer makes it look like a psycho murdered Mimi. What’s Beaupré’s motive to do all that?”

  They both looked over at the house. The gray Cape had a garage that extended out from the front of the house. There was no sign that anyone was home, but he could have still been in bed. Raines and Holly got out and walked up the short drive to the front door. Holly peeked in the garage window to see if his car was there, but it was shuttered. Before knocking, they listened for any sound that would tell them someone was home. They heard nothing. No music or TV. Raines knocked.

  Holly sensed someone was watching her. Glancing up, she caught a shadow moving away from the window. A long moment later, they heard the door unlock, and Bob Beaupré stood there.

  When Holly started to introduce Raines, Beaupré cut her off. “Cal Raines doesn’t need an introduction. I’m one of his biggest fans.” He looked up and down the street like he was expecting someone, before saying, “Please come in. I’m making a fresh pot of coffee.”

  As they followed him into the house, Holly noted he hadn’t asked them why they were there.

  It was gloomy in the entryway. Drab beige paint covered the walls. On a glass hall table, a pair of gold angel statues stood on either side of an ornate gold frame, which held the picture of a white-haired woman. Wrinkles creased her face, but her smile was youthful and soft. Holly assumed the woman to be his mother.

  In the kitchen, Beaupré poured three cups of coffee, placed them on a round breakfast table that was cluttered with real estate brochures and sat down, indicating they join him.

  “So what can I do for you?” He placed his cell phone on the table in front of him and stroked it with his thumb as he talked. He wore a button-down pink Oxford shirt left open at the throat to reveal a thick gold-rope chain and a mass of black chest hair. His belly stretched the shirt fabric taut as a drum and hung over his belt. His black slacks had horizontal, sit-down creases in the groin area. His hairline had receded to the back of his head, and what was left of his black hair had started to gray.

  Holly took one of the cups of coffee. “We were told that you manage the Milbourne property.”

  “I do. A real pity about the house. Such a magnificent renovation. No cost spared. Appalling news about Mimi, too, of course.”

  The Attorney General had released her name the night before.

  Handing a cup to Raines, he gave him a charming, winning smile. “I manage many properties in the Caxton area. In fact, your visit is serendipitous. There’s a hotel on the market that could easily be converted into condos. It would provide a terrific return on investment.”

  “I’m not interested,” Raines cut him off. “I’m here to find out what you can tell us about Mimi Milbourne.”

  Holly wondered how many times Raines had been hit up for money.

  Unable to hide his disappointment, Beaupré sighed. “We spoke occasionally, but it was always with regard to the property. We turned on the water for her, checked the heat, made sure the pipes didn’t burst and arranged for cleaners, landscapers, snowplowing, anything she needed.” He gave Raines a meaningful look. “These are services I provide for all of my clients.”

  In addition to the sleazy way he tried to sell his services considering they were there to investigate the death of one of those clients, there was something slimy about him, Holly decided. Maybe it was the way his eyes never settled on your face, but she wouldn’t have pegged him for a drug dealer.

  Raines said, “We heard Gavin Parrish worked for her.”

  “He did until she had me fire him.” Beaupré shrugged. “But that happens a lot with Gav. She had high standards, and he’s a loafer. He mowed down a bunch of her flowers and claimed they were weeds when she complained.”

  Raines asked, “Does Parrish still work for you?”

  “Not often. Parrish likes to take long lunches and sleep in his pickup while his kid does his work. I should hire Skeeter. That kid puts in a full day.”

  “How did Gavin react when you fired him?” Holly asked.

  “I don’t think he was all that surprised.”

  “Was he angry?”

  “No more than I’d seen before. He ranted about not getting paid for the work, but I wouldn’t say he was any angrier with Mrs. Milbourne than he was with most people.”

  “Who replaced him?”

  “Frank Rose, but he fell out of a tree he was trimming last week and is in the hospital.”

  Holly picked up her coffee cup. “Who else worked for her?”

  “I’m not sure. Mimi hired her own contractors for the remodel. I think I sent over a plumber, but I can’t remember. I could check my records.”

  “That would be helpful,” she said. “How long have you managed her property?”

  “Since Nancy died. The Milbournes purchased the property through her, and she managed it before me.”

  Holly studied him for a moment, thinking about how much he’d benefited from Nancy’s death. She said, “Could you email me a list of your contractors and check off the names of those who actually worked for the Milbournes?”

  “I suppose I could do that.” He said it as though he was doing her a huge favor.

  “Did Mimi call to let you know she was coming up this weekend?” Raines asked.

  “No. However, that’s not unusual. If it’s warm, she doesn’t need me to turn up the heat.” His tone was far more sugared when answering Raines.

  “Did you get their cabin ready for any other visitors?”

  “No. They didn’t rent it.”

  “Have you ever had any problems at the property?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean, problems?”

  “Any break-ins?” Holly elaborated.

  His hand shook so hard he spilled his coffee. “Did Gabby Swinford tell you that?”

  “Gabby Swinford?” Holly feigned ignorance.

  His eyes swiveled from one to the other. “It’s nothing.”

  Holly wasn’t about to let it drop. “What about the break-ins?”

  “I told you. It’s nothing,” he said, shaking the coffee off his hand.

  “I can tell from your reaction that something is going on.”

  “That woman is out to ruin my business.”

  “How’s she going to do that?” Raines asked.

  “If word gets out the properties I manage have been broken into, people won’t hire me.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “No. Nothing was stolen. A window was broken, which I replaced. It was probably kids messing around. Gabby seems to think I’m renting out the properties without paying the owners, and if she publishes that crazy theory in her paper, it will ruin me.”

  “Did anything suspicious happen over at the Milbournes’ house?”

  “Nothing.”

&nb
sp; Holly noticed Raines grimace as he tasted the coffee. It was spiced pumpkin. She liked it. Got her in the mood for fall. Anything was better than the coffee at the station. Serving that should rank as a criminal offense.

  Raines put down his cup. “Okay. That’s it for now.” He stood up to leave. “Just one more thing. Where were you on Friday night?”

  Beaupré glanced out of the window as a car drove past.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Raines asked.

  Beaupré turned back a little too quickly. “No. Why?” His eyes darted back and forth between them.

  Raines said, “You seem distracted.”

  “I’m busy. Realtors are always busy on Sundays.”

  “That’s good to know, Bob.” Holly faked a sincere smile.

  This seemed to placate him. “I worked until sixish, grabbed a burger over at The Muddy Paw, came home and fell asleep on the couch watching TV.”

  “Did you have company?”

  Beaupré shook his head.

  “Do you remember what you were watching?”

  “No. Not really. I wasn’t paying too much attention. I usually work with the TV on in the background.”

  “What about Saturday morning?”

  “I was here.”

  “That’s odd,” she said. “I knocked on your door a couple of times yesterday. You didn’t answer.”

  “I’m a heavy sleeper.” Sweat began to shine on the bald crown of his head. His hand cradled his phone.

  Noticing, she asked, “Did you get our messages?”

  He hesitated for a moment, thinking. “No. My phone ran out of juice, and the cell service around here is spotty at best.” He blinked fast.

  Holly had been trained to spot a liar. One way was by how fast they blinked during and after a lie, and Bob had just told a whopper.

  As she considered how far she wanted to push him, her phone rang. She checked the screen. It was the Chief.

  Standing up, she thanked Beaupré for his time and the delicious coffee—to which Raines raised an eyebrow.