A Luring Murder (19 page)

I smiled to myself. An image of the McMahan boys on the deck of their cabin flashed through my mind. Deep in the center of my chest, fingers gripped my heart.

“If the two murders are connected, we have to connect the dots,” I said. “Sheriff Anderson’s a good man, but I don’t think he’ll be able to figure everything out himself.”

“Okay, let’s think about how this killing could have played out,” Louise said. “If I can’t make this motive work in my head, I’m going to be a little less than enthusiastic about pointing an accusing finger at Patrick King.”

“Me too. Plus we owe it to the McMahan kids. Let’s go inside somewhere. I can’t stand this heat much more. Before we do, I should see if I can find Gavin.”

Considering I was supposed to be on vacation with him, we hadn’t spent much time together. Guilt rushed through me. Lately, guilt and I were on a first name basis. Old guilt and I hadn’t been this close since my Catholic school days when everything I thought or did seemed like a sin.

The whole reason I’d dragged myself away from the comfort of my urban habitat, into the foreign world of the country, was to have Gavin time. My job caused a lot of tension between the two of us, and here I was, back on the job.

Louise nodded. “I’ll go turn up the air conditioning in Digs’ and my cabin. That way we’re close to Digs when he gets the results of the tests. You go talk to Gavin then meet me at the cabin.”

I wandered off to find my husband.

If I had to be completely honest, like under interrogation lights, or a Chinese water torture situation, the resort was beautiful. Tall, old trees lined every path and road, giving visitors at least some relief from the God-awful heat and humidity.

When the wind blew through the trees, the leaves whispered softly. I could almost be convinced that this was a peaceful and relaxing place.

I passed families barbecuing on the decks of their cabins. Each one of them waved as I passed. As stupid as it seemed to me to wave at complete strangers, I waved back.

Gavin was right. This was a nice place, and except for everyone knowing your business, wouldn’t be a bad place to live. But there was no way I was going to admit that to Gavin or he’d have our house packed and moved before I could protest.

I rounded the corner by Bob’s cabin. Gavin was lying in a rope hammock swaying in the wind between two trees. At the foot of the hammock was the scruffy little white dog, who got to his feet as I approached, as if on guard and growled.

The little bastard had better think twice about peeing on me again, or he’d find my size sevens in a not so comfortable position.

Gavin’s eyes were closed. His head flopped back and forth with the swaying of the cot.

God, he’s so sexy.

No matter what he did, he was sexy. Gavin could make scratching his ass sexy to me.

I didn’t want to wake him up. If I didn’t wake him, he wouldn’t know that though I wasn’t spending time with him, I was thinking of him a lot.

I bent over and kissed his cheek. His eyes snapped open, and he smiled up at me.

“Morning,” I said and smoothed his hair to the side. “Are you having fun?”

He put his arms around my waist and pulled me onto the cot. It tipped backward, dangerously close to spilling us both onto the ground. The little dog yipped and jumped at the edge of the hammock as if trying to catch the ropes and drag us down to the ground.

We laughed and held onto each other until the wild ride had ended. There were too few moments like these anymore. I called them dating moments. Spontaneous moments of groping and snuggling that happened a lot when you were dating, but taper off after the familiarity of marriage settled in.

“I’d be having a better time, if I was spending time with you.” He kissed me.

His statement was made without any hint of malice or attempt to guilt. I felt the guilt just the same.

“I know, but it looks like we’re close. It won’t be long, and then we can spend the rest of the week together. Just the two of us.”

“You promise?”

I rolled back a little and looked around. “Where would I go?”

He laughed.

“I don’t think they’ll have another murder for me to investigate any time soon. Two in one week is the uppermost limit for a town this size.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mmm, it’s in the town charter.”

He laughed. He always laughed at my jokes, no matter how lame they were.

I pulled back a little to get a good look at his face. “I think you need to use some sun block, honey. You’re turning a blazing shade of pink.”

“I’m not sunburned.” He smirked at me. “I’m blushing.”

“Why?”

“Because of where your hand is.”

I looked down to where my hand rested on the inside of his thigh.

“Oh, you like that do you?”

His smirk widened into a full-blown grin. “I do. If you move your hand a little to the right, you’ll find out how much.”

“You’re a sick man, Gavin O’Brien.”

“That’s why I married you, Catherine O’Brien.” He kissed my cheek. “We belong together.”

I moved my hand a little to the right but didn’t quite touch. His whole body went tense. “I’m glad we agree on that point.”

I groped him in earnest and kissed him. The dating kiss.

“Nice,” he said and cupped his hand over my left boob. “You’re leaving again aren’t you?”

“Afraid so. Louise and I have to figure out a motive for these murders, or it’s going to be difficult to make anything stick.”

He pressed his lips flat, then nodded. The disappointed look was one I knew well.

“I understand. Go give them hell.”

I kissed him again. He didn’t understand, but he would accept what I had to do.

“Gavin?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is that dog still here?”

I rolled back so we could get a good look at the mutt, who eagerly snapped at a fly who dive bombed his head with reckless abandon.

“I still haven’t been able to find his owners. No one around here seems to have lost a dog. Mr. Peterman is going to ask around in town. Hopefully someone knows where this little guy belongs.”

“Hopefully, Peterman finds his owners soon.”

The dog eyed me and growled, as if he knew I was thinking about a quick side trip to the Humane Society on our way home from the lake. There was no way the little bugger was coming into my home to lift his leg on anything else I owned.

“I’m sure someone will claim him soon,” Gavin said. “Or maybe he’ll just wander home. That’s why I haven’t leashed him. He wanders off, from time to time, and I think maybe he’s gone home, but he keeps coming back.”

That would also explain how he was able to menace me at will around the resort. It seemed like every time I turned a corner Fido was there to bare his teeth at me.

“I’d better get going,” I said. “The sooner we get this over with the sooner you and I can start our real vacation.”

Gavin parted my hair in the middle and kissed the top of my head.

“Don’t forget to save some fish for me,” I said. “You don’t get to have all the fun.”

“Right.” He patted me on the ass as I got up. “You go catch a bad guy. I’ll worry about catching the fish.”

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The only way into Louise’s cabin was through a sliding glass door. A high-pitch squeal, like nails on a chalkboard, emanated from the track of the door when I pulled it back.

I stepped into a cramped kitchenette, straight out of the sixties. The Peterman’s effort to make the room’s avocado green counters and appliances appear up-to-date, by papering the room with bright yellow lemons, succeeded only in making a compact room feel even smaller.

In the middle of all the lemons, Louise stood with a pitcher of iced tea waiting for me.

“How domestic of you, Louise. I would have never expected you to have a Martha Stewart streak running through you.” I raised my glass of tea to toast her. “You’re just full of surprises.”

“It wasn’t me. It was Digs. He’s apparently a regular Betty Crocker.”

She shook some crackers out onto a plate, took a brick of cheddar out of the fridge, and then impaled it with a large serrated knife.

Funny, that’s exactly how I pictured her domestic abilities. Louise was more of an out-to-dinner kind of gal, than a home-for-dinner gal.

“He’s really cooking dinner, is he?” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “His nesting tendencies have really kicked in since you two moved in together.”

“You really need to stop with the innuendo.” She whacked off a hunk of cheese with more venom than someone needs to use on a brick of cheddar. “Digs and I have nothing going on between us.”

“I know. I know.” I waved her down before she could get animated with a knife in her hand. “Let’s brainstorm the motive for the murder.”

“Okay, but let’s go sit on the couch,” she said. “This kitchen makes me too claustrophobic to think clearly.”

I don’t know what I’d expected to find in the living room, but judging from the retro kitchenette, it sure wasn’t the palatial room we stepped into.

The living room was completely updated in soft, muted colors. The warm hardwood floor had a plush area rug in the center, with matching buttery leather furniture.

I could vacation in a place like this. Hell, I could live in a place like this.

“This is nice,” I said. “From the outside, the cabin looks like a dump.”

My curiosity kicked in, and I went to investigate. Wide-screened TV, DVD, cable; this wasn’t roughing it. If Gavin ever wanted to rent one of these cabins, I would go on vacation with him once a month without arguing.

I stood in front of the picture window and marveled at the view of the bay. Diamond sparkles glistened off the gentle waves that rippled across the water, and the trees from this angle created a lush green frame.

“Holy crap. What else does this place have?” I wandered toward the bedroom.

“Catherine we have work to do,” Louise said. “You want to not wander off.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.” I stuck my head into the bathroom and flicked on the light. Another cavernous room newly tiled with a whirlpool tub. “I think I’m going to stay here with you guys tonight.”

“There are only two bedrooms, and I don’t want you snoring on the couch,” Louise said.

I stepped into the tub, to try it on for size. The sides of the tub came right up to my neck and the curve of the tub fit snuggly in the curve of my back.

A perfect soaker. I loved soaker tubs. I wanted a soaker in my house, but my bathroom was in a perpetual state of remodeling. It had been in a perpetual state of remodeling for the last nine years. The price of being married to a carpenter, I guess. Gavin had a lot of grand ideas for our old Victorian house, but after working all day on construction projects, the last thing he wanted to do when he got home at night was more carpentry work.

“I don’t need a bed,” I said. “I’m going to stay right here in the bath. All I need is a pillow and a blanket. Shit, it’s been so warm lately I probably won’t need the blanket.”

“Get out of the bathtub, Catherine.” Louise leaned against the doorframe. “Time to get serious. We have work to do.”

I stretched out, propped my feet on the wall above the faucet, and crossed my arms behind my head.

“We can work in here. I’m comfortable.” I jutted my chin toward the toilet. “Pull up a seat and we’ll have a conference here in my new office.”

Louise crossed her arms around her waist and tapped her toe. She stood in her stance of annoyance until she figured I wasn’t planning to get up, no matter how long she tapped. No way, this tub was more comfortable than my bed, and a million times more comfortable than the old, lumpy bed I’d had to endure in Bob’s cabin the last few nights. It would take a minor act of God, and a major amount of explosives to get my butt out of this tub.

She heaved a heavy sigh, lowered the lid on the toilet, and settled onto the throne. I knew she was contemplating how undignified it was to have a meeting sitting on a toilet.

Louise chose to be a good sport about it. Plus, she had no choice. Unless she planned to carrying me out of the bathroom kicking and screaming, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Okay, shoot,” I said.

“Shoot?”

“Knock yourself out. Tell me what the problem is. The doctor is in.”

“Oh, please.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Why did Warren Pease get on the boat with his lover’s husband? And why would Patrick King kill Bruce McMahan?”

I fiddled with one of the jets on the side of the tub, to see if I could aim water at the knot in my lower back.

“Maybe Pease didn’t know Patrick would be on the boat. I think Pease was a set up. Somehow, Patrick lured him to the boat without Pease knowing he would be there, and he killed him.”

“Except neither us believe that theory,” she said. “Or that Patrick King is a killer.”

“Well, there is that.”

“What about McMahan? Why would Patrick kill him? There is no motive so far as I can see.”

I slid down lower in the tub. There was no over flow drain in this soaker, so there’d be no annoying gurgle-slurp while you were trying to relax. I’d have to bring Gavin over and show him this tub, so he knew which one to buy for our bathroom.

“All right,” I said. “Someone is setting Patrick up for the murders.”

“Who? Why?” Louise folded her hands together. “If we can’t answer those questions it’s a shaky theory at best. We need more.”

“The town trolley set him up.”

“Who?”

“Dawn, from the cafe. She was doing King the night Pease was murdered, and still she told me she thought King had a reason to kill Pease. I say she set him up.”

Louise pressed her lips flat. “For what reason?”

“Jealousy. She was mad that he was with Samantha instead of her.”

She gave me the look that said,
I don’t think so
.

“Not a strong enough motive, Catherine.”

“The deputy?”

“No.”

I looked over at her. “That was a little too quick, Louise. You didn’t even ask me why.”

Louise steepled her index fingers. Her eyes stayed fixed on her hands.

“Louise?”

“Please, over some stupid land deal. No way.” She met my gaze. “Not even with the pettiness he showed at the marina. Framing someone for murder, to get revenge over some stupid business deal is a little too extreme.”

I didn’t buy her argument. We both knew murders happened over much less than land and money.

“What about McMahan?” Her argument was growing fevered. “Deputy Watkins would know there was no connection between McMahan and King. So why kill McMahan?”

“I don’t know, Louise. Maybe McMahan helped Watkins kill Pease, and set up King. McMahan had a sudden attack of consciousness and threatened to tell the Sheriff. McMahan admitted to having reason to kill Pease. Maybe Watkins just gave him the opportunity he’d been waiting for.”

Louise was still letting her lust for Deputy Watkins cloud her judgment about this case, and she knew it. Before I could set Louise straight on her priorities, the squeal of the sliding glass door in its track interrupted me.

“Louise? O’Brien?”

“We’re in the bathroom, Digs,” I yelled.

Digs came around the corner. When he saw us his eyes flew open wide, and he spun around to face the wall.

“Jesus, I knew you two were close, but this is ridiculous.”

Louise looked at me and shrugged.

“What are you talking about, Digs?” I said.

“You women are a different breed,” he said, still staring at the wall. “You’d never see one guy taking a bath, while another guy is taking a shit.”

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. With me all the way down in the tub and the vanity covering Louise from her breast to her knees, it was easy to see why he’d have a minute of concern.

“It’s okay, Digs,” Louise said. “You can turn around. We’re both decent.”

“Well maybe not decent,” I said. “But we’re both dressed.”

He peeked over his shoulder. I scooted up so he could see my shirt, and Louise stuck her legs out so he could see that her pants were still covering her from top to bottom.

His shoulders drooped with relief.

“I thought. . ..”

He blushed with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Well, it looked like. . ..” He shifted his weight to one side and put his hand on his hips. “What are you doing in the bathtub anyway, O’Brien?”

“I was trying it on for size. It’s one comfortable tub.”

“You don’t think that lying in a bathtub fully clothed, having a conversation with someone sitting on a toilet, is a little odd?” He made an effort to look casual as he leaned against the door jam, and failed miserably.

I looked at Louise and she at me.

“No.” We chimed together and shook our heads.

“Whatever.” He pushed himself up straight. “You two are way too close.”

“What do you have for us, Digs?” Louise asked.

He stepped all the way into the room. Though the bathroom was roomy, with three people crowded in it felt claustrophobic. Bathrooms aren’t meant for large meetings. They are far more suited to intimate moments.

“The blood on the anchor is our victim’s and the powder residue on the table was clay. The hair belongs to a woman. I checked it against both of you just in case there was contamination, but it’s not yours.”

“Clay?”

The newspaper page that McMahan had been looking at was folded in my back pocket. I leaned to the side and fished it out, unfolded the square and looked at the top portion of the paper. The story of the murder took the entire top. I unfolded the bottom half.

Digs’ voice echoed through my head, “They say that animals are excellent judges of character.”

“Shit!”

I pushed myself out of the bathtub. Digs pressed himself against the wall as I ran past him out of the bathroom. I turned down the hall to the bedrooms.

A tiny piece of the puzzle snapped into place, the missing piece, the one we needed slotted itself into place. Despite the neon sign pointing to Patrick King, we had a new suspect.

“What is it Catherine?” Louise and Digs followed me down the hall.

I stuck my head into the first bedroom, glimpsed Digs’ tighty-whities on the floor, and headed to the next bedroom.

“Don’t you see? Clay was holding the knife under the table. There’s clay residue on the table.”

There on the dresser was the plastic bag I was looking for from the gift shop. I pulled the vase that Louise bought out and turned it over. The bottom was covered with leather.

Digs and Louise stared at me open mouthed when I ran past them toward the living room. I yanked the knife from the block of cheese Louise had left on the coffee table, slid the blade between the vase and the leather, and cut the leather piece from the vase.

“Catherine, you’d better had a damned good reason for destroying my property.”

“I do.” I checked the bottom. “Shit.”

“What is it?” Louise said.

I shoved the newspaper toward her. “McMahan wasn’t reading about the murders.”

Louise took the paper from me and held it up. I pointed to the bottom corner of the front page, where a black and white photo of Samantha King smiled back at us, under the headline “Local Artist Gives Generous Donation to Area School Arts Program.”

I held the vase up so she could see the bottom. The initials S.K. were carved into the bottom.

“She doesn’t just paint,” I said.

“Holy shit,” Digs said.

It was pretty much a slam-dunk. We couldn’t have asked for a neater or tighter package than this. Our murderer had just been served up on a platter.

“But why did she do it?” I said. “We’re still hung up on motive. Why would Samantha King want Warren Pease, a man she’d been sleeping with, dead? We need the answer to that question before we can make a move.”

“To frame her husband.” Louise stood. “She would be rid of Patrick, once and for all, and the money would be hers.”

“Unlike a divorce,” Digs said.

“With that prenup staring her in the face, she wouldn’t have gotten anything from a divorce,” I said. “But if Patrick was in jail. . ..”