Lonesome Lake

by Lesley Appleton-Jones

  “Email from Beaupré with the list of contractors we requested.” She scanned it and sighed. “He must have listed every damn contractor, snowplower, house cleaner and landscaper in a twenty-mile radius. He even has the Chief’s brother on it and Boonie, but he did put asterisks next to the names of people who worked for Mimi. This is interesting. We knew Parrish would be on it, but get this, so is Tim Smith. He’s listed as a window cleaner. What better job to have if you want to spy on women? I think it’s time we go find Tim Smith.”

  Walking to the door, Raines asked, “How about we interview his aunt first?”

  Holly followed him. “But she’s in the hospital.”

  “Yes. That’s unfortunate. But we need all the information we can find on Smith before we interview him. Who knows, we may get lucky, and she’ll let us check out the house. He may have been on his own while she’s been in the hospital. Perhaps we’ll find some gas cans.”

  Raines was right, Holly thought. It was always better to have as much information as possible about the person you planned to interview, but she had her reasons for resisting a trip to the hospital. Edith Smith had cancer, which meant she’d be on the same floor as Boonie’s mother. The last thing she wanted was to bump into either Boonie or his mother. Neither of them would be happy if she didn’t stay for a visit.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Caxton Memorial Hospital resembled a classic New England resort far more than it did a medical facility. White clapboard covered the exterior. Tall windows provided patients with bright, cheery rooms and panoramic views of the mountains. A quaint cupola sat on top of a steep steel roof that enabled snow to slide off it. Built in 1911, the hospital had expanded considerably after the first ski resort opened in the nineteen thirties. Locals referred to it as the hospital built on broken bones, to which she’d been a contributor, Holly thought with a wry smile.

  She parked and searched for Boonie’s truck but didn’t see it. She checked her watch. Four thirty. He always visited his mother for lunch on Sundays, so he’d have already come and gone, which was lucky. Not only was Edith Smith on the same floor as his mother, but she was in the room next to her.

  Walking up the stairs to the second floor, Holly could smell the food congealing on the scuffed, brown plastic trays. She scrunched up her nose in distaste. She didn’t have a weak constitution—far from it. She’d smelled odors much worse than this and had been fine, but hospitals were different. The combination of institutional food, deadly diseases and the weird way the highly buffed linoleum floor squeaked when you walked on it, was creepy.

  Years on the job had turned her into a germophobe. She was convinced that if she didn’t get a grip on her mounting horror at unseen viruses or bacteria, it would reach Howard Hughes proportions by the time she retired.

  She wasn’t alone, either. Plenty of cops she knew felt the same way and for good reason. She’d once met someone who’d contracted hepatitis C from a needle-stick injury when he was frisking a drug user. Lieutenant Gustafson would never admit it, but she’d seen him hand off an interview if the suspect was sick.

  Walking down the corridor toward Edith Smith’s room, she fought the urge to seek out the nearest hand sanitizer. She admired doctors and nurses for their willingness to deal with bodily fluids on a minute-by-minute basis.

  When they checked in at the nurses’ station, a nurse cautioned them not to overtax Edith but said it was up to the patient if she wanted to speak to them. Holly felt a momentary pang of guilt as she walked past Mrs. Taylor’s room. She’d only visited her a couple of times.

  She glanced in and was relieved to find her sleeping. Since dating Boonie four months earlier, Holly had watch cancer ravage his mother at a terrifying pace. Linda Taylor had been a plump woman, with bright, brassy red hair and pencil-thin eyebrows that were almost as thoroughly plucked as a Thanksgiving turkey. The woman lying on the bed was barely recognizable. The bed sheet lay flat on the mattress where the surgeon had amputated her right leg the week before. White, papery thin skin stretched taut over her skull. She’d shrunk and was so emaciated Holly wondered how Linda could still be alive.

  Sympathy stirred in her. No wonder Boonie had been so tense and needy. Even before his mom’s surgery, it had been a rough ride. Linda had to quit her job as a house cleaner and move in with him so he could take care of her. For the last year, he’d shopped for her, cooked, cleaned, and driven her to treatments. It was just the two of them. He didn’t have siblings, and his dad had been killed in a car accident when Boonie was ten. Holly couldn’t imagine how difficult it was to see your mom struggle every day. Feeling mean and petty, she walked past his mother’s room and vowed to make more time for him. It was the least she could do.

  Edith Smith didn’t look any better than Boonie’s mother. She lay on her side, facing the window with her back to the room. Her bed had a view of the trees and the mountain beyond. She was gaunt and tiny. A green scarf dotted with lavender flowers covered her head. She was hooked up to several monitors and an IV. Stacks of worn magazines and romance novels lined the windowsill and told the story of how long she’d been there.

  Holly called her name softly. With great difficulty, Edith turned her frail body to lay flat on the bed so she could look up at them. They introduced themselves and explained why they were there. Edith said she’d heard what happened to Mimi because the nurses and visitors had been talking about it all day.

  Her speech was slurred and her breathing labored.

  Holly sat down in the visitors’ chair while Raines stood at the foot of the bed. Holly asked her about the form for the viatical that she’d re-signed.

  “Timmy said the original got lost in the mail,” she explained.

  “So Tim was responsible for returning the completed form to Mrs. Milbourne?”

  “Yes. He’s always been helpful. Always wants to take care of me.”

  “So Tim knew Mrs. Milbourne?”

  “Just to go over what was happening with my life insurance policy. You see, when I got sick, I had to spend my savings to pay the doctor bills. I was going to lose the house, and it’s Timmy’s home. Selling my insurance saved the house for Timmy. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  How brave she is, Holly thought, to know that she was going to die yet her concern was for her nephew. Holly had a sinking feeling that if she were in her shoes, she’d only be thinking of herself. For his aunt’s sake, she hoped Tim Smith was innocent. “Can you tell us about your nephew?”

  Edith struggled to nod but failed. The effort of moving her head proved too exhausting. Her pillow slipped up high on the bed. She raised an arm to reposition it, but she was too weak to manage it.

  “May I?” Raines offered, coming to her side.

  She gave him a feeble smile of acceptance, and he gently slipped his hand beneath her head, lifted it and repositioned the pillow for her. “How’s that?”

  “Much better.” She paused a moment to take a shallow breath before continuing. “Timmy is a good boy.”

  At thirty, Holly wouldn’t exactly categorize him as a boy. “Why does he live with you?”

  “Timmy didn’t have anyone else.” She paused for another breath. “I’ve raised him since he was seven. His dad was never in the picture, and his mother ran off to the circus. He believes she’s a famous contortionist in Europe. My sister filled his head with all kinds of nonsense. Told him that she was going to be the first female Houdini.” Edith’s voice was weak and thready. She paused again. Her bony chest rose and fell from the effort of talking. “Of course he swallowed it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him she ran off with a man and ended up selling cotton candy.” She coughed and paled even more from the effort. Grimacing in pain, she pressed a button she was holding, which Holly assumed was connected to a supply of morphine.

  Holly could clearly see she was in pain, but she needed to ask her a few more questions. “Was Tim upset with Mimi about the insurance policy?”

  “He didn’t understand at fi
rst. He believed she was making too much profit, but I explained the buyer had to get some money out of the deal. Once he understood that, he was okay.”

  “Do you know where Tim is now?”

  “No. I’ve been worried about him. It’s getting late. He’s always here on Sundays. This is Sunday, isn’t it?”

  Holly nodded.

  “You don’t think something happened to him, do you? After what happened to Mimi and the fire. That was terrible.” Fear strengthened her tone. “He’s all alone at the house. I worry about him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s not used to cooking his meals. I’ve always cooked for him. He gets distracted and leaves the stove on.” She grimaced in pain and pushed the button again.

  “We could check in on him if you’d like,” Holly suggested, feeling guilty for the sneaky way she was getting permission to search the house without a warrant.

  “Would you?” Edith mumbled and closed her eyes.

  Raines and Holly stared down at her. Concerned.

  “Edith? Was Tim here on Friday night?” Holly gently coaxed.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. Holly could see that her pupils had become constricted from the opioids she’d just released into her system.

  “Is Timmy here? Timmy?” Her voice was weak.

  “He’s not here, Mrs. Smith. Why don’t you rest now? We’ll go find him for you,” Holly told her.

  She mumbled her thanks before closing her eyes again.

  “Let’s go find Tim Smith,” Holly whispered to Raines.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Abbey readied Granite for a jump. She lined him up and checked the horse’s pace. As he pushed off with his hind legs, Abbey balanced her weight over his center of gravity and released the reins so he could stretch out to jump.

  Leaning against the paddock fence, Po watched her every move. For a man who had braved going undercover to infiltrate a biker gang, he had no stomach for her jumping anything higher than a shoebox. She cantered over to him.

  “That was great, kiddo.”

  She patted her horse’s neck. “Granite gets the credit, not me.”

  “It scares the hell out of me every time you jump that fence. Does it need to be so high?”

  “I want you to raise it for me.”

  “No way.”

  “I’ve jumped higher.” She grinned, then noticed Granite’s ears stiffen in warning. Seconds later she heard the motorcycle. “Didn’t Uncle Cal take his truck today?”

  “That’s not Cal’s motorcycle. That’s a dirt bike,” Po told her. “But I have a pretty good idea who it is.”

  As the rider came into view, Granite threw up his head, pinned his ears back and started to paw the ground. He must have remembered his close call in the woods the day before. Abbey stayed relaxed in the saddle, stroking his sweaty neck to soothe him.

  The motorcyclist parked in front of the garages, removed his helmet and glanced over at them. Jesse Keegan hadn’t needed to take off his helmet for Abbey to recognize him.

  Po raised his hand in greeting.

  When Jesse sauntered over to them, Abbey glared down at him. “What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her voice calm so as not to alarm Granite. It wasn’t easy—especially not when her father’s gun was hidden in the tack room. If her uncle found out about it, he’d take it away from her.

  Jesse grinned up at her. “Thought I’d swing by and visit with Po.”

  Abbey hissed at Po, “You know him?”

  Granite started to sidestep. She patted his neck again and fought to control her anger.

  Po appeared surprised by her tone. “We met earlier today.”

  Jesse draped an arm on the fence post and smirked.

  Abbey didn’t care for the confident way he leaned against the fence, or the way his eyes bored into hers. What she disliked the most, though, was the weird things his cocky grin did to her insides. “What are you smirking at?” she snapped.

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  Po shifted his gaze from one teenager to the other. “So, I take it you know each other?”

  “Let’s just say he ran into me when he was trespassing on our property yesterday,” Abbey snapped.

  “I didn’t see a boundary line,” Jesse responded with an edge to his voice.

  Po shoved his hands into the pockets of his Sherpa-lined denim jacket. “Easy getting confused in the forest.”

  That was another thing she could add to her long list of Jesse Keegan dislikes—Po defending him. As if he sensed Abbey’s hostility to the stranger, Granite swished his tail, signaling his anger. “Apart from annoying the hell out of my horse, what are you doing here?”

  “Po invited me over to check out his new bike.”

  Abbey sat up tall in the saddle and looked at them with disapproval. “How fascinating. I’ll let you get on with it.” Determined to ignore him, she tugged gently on the reins and took off for the other side of the paddock. She let Granite blow off steam with a short gallop, but she couldn’t stop wondering what they were discussing.

  About an hour later, Abbey heard Jesse’s bike as he headed back down the driveway. She sat on a boulder under a canopy of yellowing maple leaves, waiting for him. Not that she wanted to talk to him, but she had to find out if he’d said anything about her father’s gun.

  He rolled to a stop when he spotted her and flipped up his visor.

  “Enjoying yourself?” she snapped.

  He flashed another smug smirk. “The guy knows bikes. But let’s get things straight. That’s all I was here for.”

  From her perch, she stared down at him and gave him the meanest look she could. She wanted him to see how pissed she was by his sudden intrusion in her life.

  Jesse’s smirk morphed into a conspiratorial grin. “So, Po. He’s a big bastard. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.”

  For whatever reason, his words made her laugh. “He’s a big softy when you get to know him.”

  “Sure he is. You should have seen the size of the compressor he just…” As she slid down from the rock, his words trailed off. His expression turned serious, and he stared at her legs like he’d never seen a pair of black riding boots and tan breeches before.

  He gazed at her the same way Po did a juicy steak—with great, lip-smacking gusto. She cleared her throat in annoyance. He raised his eyes to meet hers.

  “So,” he said, his voice a notch higher. “This is your uncle’s place?” He cut the engine.

  She didn’t want to talk about her uncle. She had to find out if he’d said anything about her father’s gun but asking felt too much like a favor. “What else did you guys talk about?”

  Jesse shrugged. “Mostly bike stuff.” He dropped his hands from the handlebars and let them rest on the gas tank. “Don’t worry. Nothing about yesterday.”

  Relief flooded through her. “Not even about the gun?”

  “No.”

  Perhaps he wasn’t such a jerk after all. “It was my dad’s. They’d take it if they knew about it.” She added a grudging, “Thanks.”

  “Now was that so painful?” he asked.

  “Worse than having all my wisdom teeth pulled.”

  He grinned. “Why the need to carry a gun?”

  “Did Po tell you about my mother?”

  He shook his head. “Everyone in town heard what your dad did.”

  Abbey clenched her fists. “My dad is innocent!”

  Although he said nothing, his eyes seemed to say, “Sure he is.”

  She continued, “He didn’t do it, but I know who killed my mom.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. And I’m going to prove it.” Her cell phone rang. It was Po. She didn’t answer it. “I need to go.”

  As she walked past him, he said, “This has got to be the most monumentally dumb idea I’ve ever had, but I’ll help if you want.”

  She stopped and turned around. “I don’t need any help.”

  “You have your own trans
portation, then?”

  The glint in his eyes told her he knew he’d hit upon one of her biggest challenges for carrying out her plan. Had Po told him about the pickup? The week before, she’d tried to sneak off in her uncle’s F250, but it had been a disaster. She’d swerved to miss a possum and had hit a boulder in the driveway. She had to pretend that she was practicing her driving, but her uncle hadn’t been convinced. Po was still fixing the truck. No way could she get another ride.

  She assessed the risk level. Jesse hadn’t mentioned the gun to Po, which was a good sign, but she hardly knew him. Still, would anyone want to mess with her after seeing Po’s massive, tattooed body? What’s more, Jesse had no idea she didn’t have ammo for the gun. She shrugged a what-the-hell kind of shrug and went for it. “Can you meet me later tonight?”

  “It will have to be around eleven. I have some things to take care of first.”

  That meant she’d have to sneak out, but it wouldn’t be a problem. “Can you meet me across the street? There’s a trail about two hundred feet down the road from here on the right.”

  “I know it. I’ll be there,” he called out as she ran down the driveway.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Holly cranked the Crown Vic’s window down and inhaled deeply. The fresh mountain air carried a hint of pine. It smelled good and natural. Nothing close to the gross combination of curdling food and disinfectant in the hospital. She made a right onto a rutted, unpaved road. As the car bumped up and down, Holly wished they were in her Jeep.

  “You’re sure this is Edith’s driveway?” Raines asked. “It looks like a logging road.”

  “No. I thought I’d take a quick detour to cut down a couple of trees just for the hell of it,” she quipped.

  Fifty feet further, they rounded a bend. A one-story ranch sat on a scruffy patch of grass in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. A dilapidated barn peeked out from behind the house. There were no cars out front, and no one answered when they knocked. They went around back and found the door wide open. Scanning the yard and trees, they searched for someone fleeing but didn’t see anyone.