Against the Tide (10 page)

TWELVE

G
arret began to feel uneasy as he waited for Megan to come to the door. Was something wrong? “Megan?” he called. “It's just me.”

She opened the door with a relieved expression. “Sorry. I sort of freaked when I heard the noise.”

“Maybe it's not a good idea for you to stay here alone.”

“And I still don't have my phone,” she reminded him.

“I spoke to Scott Barnett. He suggested it would be easier for the police to protect just one house.” He looked around the cabin. “Do you mind moving into mine?”

“Not at all.” She looked relieved. “Let me go pack up my stuff.”

As he helped carry her bags to the main house, his phone rang. When he answered it, Scott Barnett was on the other end.

“I think we picked up one of the guys,” Scott told Garret. “Can you and Megan meet up with me to give a positive ID?”

“We're on our way.” Garret tossed Megan's bags inside then reached for her hand, explaining the situation as they ran back to his car.

Five minutes later they were entering the police station. “This is our first break,” Garret told Megan as they head for the reception area. “Maybe the tide's about to turn.”

“Go ahead and take a seat,” the receptionist told them. “I'll let you know when they're ready for you.”

It took about ten minutes before they were let into the area where Scott had managed to round up some guys for a lineup. Megan suddenly felt nervous to think she was about to see this criminal face-to-face. She gave Garret an uneasy look and was relieved when he reached for her hand.

“Just take in a deep breath,” he said quietly. “Give yourself time to take a good long look.”

She nodded, but as she looked up at the lineup of five men, she realized that she needed no time. She instantly recognized the man in the black hooded sweatshirt and black jeans. “That's him,” she told Scott. “In the center.”

“No doubts?”

“No doubts.” She felt a shiver run down her spine as she stared into the pale pockmarked face, the blank-looking eyes. She almost wondered if he was high on something. “And I'm ninety-nine percent certain that's the same guy who jumped me at the newspaper office last night, too.”

“Didn't you say this guy had a knife when you picked him up?” Garret asked Scott.

“That's right.” Scott turned to Megan. “Do you think you could recognize the knife?” he asked her.

“I'm not sure about that. But I described the knife to Michael in the police report,” she told him. “It looked like a really large hunting knife. You know the kind of blade that's wide with kind of a curve at the tip. And really shiny. But I never saw the handle.”

Scott just nodded. “That sounds like his knife. I'll check it against Michael's report. And then we'll start comparing fingerprints from the break-ins.”

“Speaking of Michael,” Garret asked tentatively, “any word yet?”

“Last I heard he's in surgery. But it sounds like he should be okay.”

Garret let out a long sigh, squeezing Megan's hand. “Good to know.”

Scott grinned at them. “One down and...how many more to go?”

“At least one more,” Megan said. “The darker-skinned man who was in Dad's house.”

“Maybe we can get this guy to squeal.” Scott waved to the officer who was managing the lineup then turned back to Megan. “You're done here. But stay in touch, okay?”

Megan gave Scott the quick rundown of their plans to go through the newspaper office and then her dad's house.

“Just keep me posted,” he told her.

“We will.”

As they went back outside, Megan felt a wave of relief washing over her. “I can't believe they got him,” she said in wonder. As they stood on the sidewalk, soaking up the afternoon sun, she realized that Garret was still holding her hand. Not that she minded. It was actually quite comforting. And, to be honest, it was more than that, too. She looked up into his teal-blue eyes and sighed. “I feel like I can breathe easier now.”

“Good.” He smiled warmly down on her. “Now we just need to find that yellow envelope.”

She pointed across the street to where the mortuary was located on the corner. “Mind if I pop in there first? I left a message saying I'd be by today.”

“Let's go,” he said, still holding her hand as they walked across the street.

Megan felt a chill run through her as they went into the big white building, where a man in a dark suit came out to greet them.

“Mr. Bagley.” Garret shook his hand, pausing to introduce Megan.

“Oh, Megan.” Mr. Bagley grasped her hand. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man. He will be greatly missed in this town.”

She thanked him. “I left a message saying I'd be by today. But things got, uh, a little busy. And I seem to have lost my phone.”

“That explains why my calls were unanswered,” he said as he led them into a paneled office. “Have a seat, please.”

After they were seated, he explained that he'd tried to call her several times. “It wasn't that I needed your permission, since your father had already attended to everything, but it is always nice to have contact with the deceased one's closest relatives.”

“Yes, I'm sorry to be unavailable.”

“So, as I was saying, we have already taken care of your father's final plans. And the remains will be ready to be picked up in time for the ceremony.”

“What?” Megan was confused.

“I'm sorry,” Mr. Bagley said gently. “I assumed you knew what your father's final wishes were. I asked him to give a copy of his funeral plan to his next of kin. I assume that's you.”

“Yes, of course. And he did that. But to be honest, I never had a chance to really look at it. And, besides, I never thought my dad would die...like this.”

“Yes, we never do expect it, do we? That's why it's best to be prepared. Fortunately, your father was prepared.”

“Right...” Megan still felt confused. “So his service is Wednesday and—”

“Yes, Pastor Jackson and I have already discussed that. And, like I said, we have a copy of your father's funeral plan and we were aware that he wanted his service to be at his church. And I must agree that's more personal that way. But since the service is on Wednesday, I knew it would be best to schedule the cremation for today. You see, we're closed on Sundays and then Monday is a holiday. So everything here is shut down and, well, it takes a while for the crematory to reach the proper temperatures when we reopen again on Tuesday, and so it was more prudent to take care of the procedure today while the crematory was still—”

“What?” Megan stood up. She could not believe what she had just heard. “What did you just say?”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Bagley's pale brows arched.

Megan stared at him in horror. “Are you saying that you
cremated
my father?”

THIRTEEN

“I
'm sorry this is troubling to you, Miss McCallister. But we were only following your father's final wishes,” Mr. Bagley calmly told her. “Fulfilling our contractual obligations with him is our primary purpose.”

“So you really did it? You cremated him—already?” Megan felt tears coming.

Mr. Bagley clasped his hands together, nodding solemnly. “According to his wishes.”

“But what about the autopsy?” she demanded, trying to blink back the tears. “The police promised there would be one—”

“There was one. It was the coroner who called us yesterday to—”

“But no one called me. Did they perform toxicology and—”

“I can't answer to those details. But I do know that the coroner completed his report. That's why he called to arrange for a transport.” As Mr. Bagley stood, his face remained serene. “Everything was done accordingly. Nothing had been done out of order. I'm so very sorry that this has taken you by—”

“I just didn't expect this. It's not how I—I—” Megan's voice cracked as she broke into tears.

“Losing a family member is never easy for anyone,” Mr. Bagley said soothingly. “Even when you do expect it, it's difficult...even more so when you're caught off guard.”

“I know, but I wanted—I wanted to—” She choked back a sob. “To just, at least, say goodbye.”

Garret moved near to her and, wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. “Go ahead and cry,” he said quietly. “You deserve a good cry, Megan.”

“I just can't believe it,” she sobbed. “I—I can't even say goodbye to him.”

“You can still say goodbye,” he said gently. “There are lots of ways to say goodbye.”

“How?” She looked up at him through her tears.

“We'll go out in my boat. We'll go to the places on the river and the ocean that we know your father loved,” he assured her. “We can even take his ashes out there sometime, if you want. I'm guessing that Rory would like that.”

She sniffed. “Yeah, he probably would.”

“We can go out whenever you want to, Megan. That's how you'll say goodbye.”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bagley said eagerly. “That's an excellent plan. And your father's urn will be ready to be picked up as soon as Tuesday morning. Or if you like, we can deliver it to the church in time for the service.”

Megan nodded. “Yes, please do that. To the church. Thank you.”

“Come on,” Garret gently told her. “Let's go now.”

Megan didn't protest as Garret led her out of the building. With one arm still wrapped around her shoulders, he led her down the street, away from the mortuary. And with each step he assured her that it was going to be okay. And that it was okay to cry.

Finally, they were standing in front of the newspaper office and she remembered their plan to look for the missing yellow envelope. “Thank you,” she told Garret. “I don't know why I lost it in there.”

“Seemed perfectly natural to me.” He pushed a strand of windblown hair away from her face. “Especially when you consider everything, Megan. It's bad enough to lose your dad. But all this other business... Well, it's pretty trying.”

“Yeah.” She nodded as she opened her purse, digging in the bottom for the lure and key as well as her packet of tissues. Finding both, she blew her nose then unlocked the door. “I don't like feeling like such a basket case,” she told him as they went inside. “I'm normally a little more together.”

“I think you're pretty together already.” He grinned at her. “Considering.”

“Thanks.” She was just turning on the lights when a recorded voice from the security system demanded she input the security code. “Oh, no,” she said as she went over to the key pad. “I don't know the number.”

“Michael was going to text it to your phone,” Garret reminded her.

“My phone that's lost. Probably still in Dad's front yard.”

Garret pulled out his phone, calling information to get the number of the security company just as the alarms started to go off.

“Let's go outside,” she urged him.

It took a few minutes for her to convince the security company that she was Rory McCallister's daughter and, due to his death, the legal owner of the newspaper office. Even then they asked her some security questions, but finally they gave her the password to turn off the obnoxious alarm that was getting unwanted attention from passersby.

“And will you let the police know it's a false alarm?” she asked. “I hate having them make an unnecessary trip.” The truth was she didn't want to have to explain this to Detective Greene. “They have enough on their plate today.”

“I have to let them know,” the woman told her. “Whether they pay you a visit or not is up to them.”

Megan rolled her eyes as she thanked the woman and hung up, handing Garret his phone back. “Well, it's good to know the system works. Too bad it wasn't working last night.” She hurried inside and punched in the numbers which were, ironically, her birth date. She should've thought of that.

“I guess we can assume that no intruder has been here since last night,” Garret said.

“Seems like it. And just to be safe, I think I'll reactivate the system so that no one sneaks in while we're here.”

“Good idea.”

Before long, they were in Rory's office. The police had given Megan permission to clean it up and put everything back together. “I should probably just box up all these files,” she said as she laid a stack on top of his desk. “I'll have to eventually, anyway...when I sell it.”

“So you really plan to sell the paper?”

“What else can I do?”

Garret shrugged. “Just seems a shame.” He worked to maneuver a file drawer back into the tall cabinet.

“A shame?”

He turned to look at her. “It's just that it's been in your family all these years. Rory was getting ready to celebrate the centennial next year. To think that the crooks have taken it all away from your family like this... Well, it just seems wrong, Megan.”

She sighed as she wiped her dusty palms on her jeans. “I know.”

“After all, you're a newspaper woman.”

She pursed her lips then turned away, staring out the window, which was in need of a good washing. On the street people were still moving merrily along, dressed in vacation clothes and focused on their weekend activities, completely oblivious to the pain going on in her heart.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. He came over to stand behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders. “I shouldn't have pushed you like that. You've already got so much to deal with.” He turned her around to face him. “Please forgive me.”

She tried to smile, but knew it was pathetic. “Of course.”

“Can I give you a bit of advice, something that someone gave my grandmother after my grandfather passed?”

“What's that?”

“Don't make any major life decisions for at least three months. There's nothing, including this newspaper, that can't be put on hold for that long.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I shouldn't just put the paper up for sale and get it over with?”

“I think you'd be wise to wait, Megan. You could end up regretting a knee-jerk decision, made in the wake of grief. Why not give yourself time?”

She nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

Garret looked around the dusty office. “I wonder if we're wasting our time in here, Megan. I mean, do you really think Rory would've hidden that envelope in his office? Seems like the first place somebody would look.” He picked up another file drawer, sliding it into place.

“You're probably right.”

“But it's possible that it's somewhere in the newspaper offices,” Garret continued. “Can you think of any special spot where Rory might've put it?”

Megan tried to think. “There's no safe.”

“Any quirky places that no one knew about?”

“Let's walk around,” she suggested. “Maybe something will come to me.” She turned off the lights in her dad's office and sadly closed the door. She could feel her dad's presence everywhere in this building. She knew that he'd had his hands all over anything that happened in here. A few employees, who never lasted long, had accused Rory McCallister of micromanaging this newspaper. And it was true—he did. But that was just who he was. It was one reason Megan hadn't ever felt she could work for him as an adult. But now that he was gone, she wished she'd given it a try.

“Are you okay?” Garret asked as they stood in the center of the press room.

She sighed. “Yeah...just thinking.”

“Lots of good memories.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Not enough. I wish we'd had time for more. Wish I could turn back the clock.”

“Yeah, I get that. Same way I felt when my grandfather died.” Garret went over to a dark corner, poking around.

“But in a way I can turn back the clock.” She scanned the shelves on the back wall, wondering if the envelope might be tucked into one of those stacks of paper.

“How so?” he asked.

“By finishing what Dad started.” She picked up an overturned bucket, looking inside it before she set it down again.

“You mean by bringing down the Marco brothers?” He looked a little uneasy, as if he didn't quite approve—or perhaps he was simply worried for her safety.

She just nodded then went over to kneel down to peer beneath one of the big machines, hoping to spy a yellow envelope. The more she looked, the more she realized that this could be like going back in time. If she could finish what Dad started with this exposé, it would be like she was working with him.

As she leaned over to see beneath a metal shelf, she said a silent prayer—partly to God and partly to her dad—asking for help to complete what seemed an impossible task. Then seeing an old yardstick, she used it to give a swipe beneath the shelf and hearing a loud snap, she jumped, letting out a little screech. But when she removed the yardstick, all she found was an old mousetrap latched on to the end of it. Well, at least she hadn't put her hand under there.

“Find something?” he asked as he came over to join her.

“No, but I'm not giving up,” she said with fresh resolve. “I know in my heart that Dad would want me to finish this business. He obviously worked really hard on it. And I plan to—” She stopped at the sound of a door closing. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, grabbing onto his arm.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward one of the big presses. “Let's get back there.”

Together they went behind the greasy machine. “Do you think it's the police?” she asked quietly. “Remember the security company said they might come.”

“They would've been here sooner.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, feeling that shaky feeling coming over her again as she remembered her attacker last night. But Garret was here now. She was safe with him.

“The alarm didn't go off,” Garret pointed out. “Didn't you set it again?”

“I did.” She frowned. “Maybe it's Barb or Arthur. They must know the code.” She started to step out, but Garret stopped her.

“You wait here while I go make sure it's safe,” he said in a commanding tone.

“But I'm sure that's who it is,” she protested. “They simply disarmed the alarm. Let me go and talk to them.”

“No.” He firmly shook his head. “I'll go.”

“But I—”

“Stay here,” he told her as he stepped out.

She wanted to argue with him, to remind him that this was her newspaper office and that she was in charge, but he was already by the door. He turned off the light so that it was pitch-black in there and then he opened the door and slipped out into the office area.

She was tempted to follow him, but knew she'd never find her way out in the darkness without knocking something over and making noise that would alert an intruder to her whereabouts. But she really didn't think it was an intruder. She felt certain it was Barb or Arthur. And she felt like an indignant four-year-old who had been sent to her room.

As she stood there in the darkness with the inky, greasy smell of the press machines all around her, she began to question her blind trust in Garret. Oh, sure, he was handsome and kind and charming. But wasn't it a little suspicious that he seemed to know so much about the Marco brothers? Even more than the police seemed to know?

And why did he have so much interest in helping her? How was he able to so easily set his whole life aside while he stayed by her side? And why did it seem that every time something went awry, he was nearby? Sure, it seemed as if he was helping her. But how did he manage to come out of every encounter unscathed? Meanwhile, she'd been attacked and nearly killed. And then Michael had been shot.

A chill ran through her as she realized that Garret might simply be using her. What if she was the key for him to get his hands on that yellow envelope? Information that he needed to attain because he was working for the Marco brothers? What if he'd made up a story about being friends with her dad just to win her trust? And wasn't it fishy that he'd gone to so much trouble to keep her at his marina cabins? What if she'd been a stupid fool to fall for all this? Allowing a handsome face and a kind word to take her in? But here she was, stuck in a dark room—and she didn't even have a phone to call for help. Why hadn't she insisted he leave his phone behind? Why hadn't he offered?

Suddenly, she heard a scuffling sound in the main office. It sounded like chairs and desks being shoved around. This was followed by what seemed an exchange of words. And then a loud crash, as if something big had toppled over. And finally there was a single gunshot.

Her heart clutched in fear. Did Garret have his gun with him? She couldn't remember. What should she do? Stay put like Garret had told her? Or got out and risk being shot, too?