Ashes and Bone (15 page)

Dealing with Beau Asher and his high-profile friends was going to be about as fun as an enema.

“Investigator Foster.” Mayor Asher stood up to shake his hand. “Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

Cage nodded at Stanley, who returned the gesture with clear reservation.

“This must be Mr. Booth.”

“Wyatt.” He stood up, politician smile at the ready, but winced, favoring his left leg. “How are things in town?”

“Stressful. I’m told the fire is under control, and of course––” he glanced at Stanley, “––we’re still looking for Nick Samuels.”

“Bad stuff there.” Booth sat back down and gestured for Cage to take the remaining seat. It was only then he realized Margaret had disappeared.
Is she even allowed in the men’s nest?

Cage sat in a chair matching the mayor’s, noting again how Booth seemed to control the room. “As a matter of fact, Captain Barnes and I think the arson and the kidnapping may be related.”

“I suppose you’re here to accuse me of setting my own house on fire too?” Stanley spoke for the first time. His birdlike hands rested in fists on his lap. “I told your captain I would not submit to any tests. The idea is outrageous.”

“Of course it is.” Good cop was a role at which Cage excelled. Feeling stuck in Roselea for so long had given him a knack for empathy, making a man like Stanley easy to read. He was probably second-in-command at Norton but had enjoyed being the company big shot to the peons in Roselea.
Now Booth is here and Stanley questioned by police. Hard on the ego.

“I don’t think you set the fire. And the Captain doesn’t either. We really just need to eliminate you as a suspect. But I understand your principles.”

“Then why are you here?” Booth asked in a charming Sunday reverend voice. It set Cage’s teeth on edge. He’d known one too many corrupt preachers.

“I need to establish a timeline with Mr. Stanley first. You left at about ten after four to pick up Mr. Booth at the airfield in Claiborne County, right?”

Stanley nodded, but Booth answered. “And my flight records show that, of course.”

“Of course,” Cage said. “But Jaymee is sure she saw you at Delta Correctional Facility earlier in the day. Did you fly into Fayette first?”

A faint flicker of irritation passed Booth’s face, his upper lip twitching for just an instant before another wry smile. “I thought the lady looked familiar. Yes, I did stop by DCF first. One of the guards is a family friend. I stopped to say hello. So my flight records reflect my earlier landing, around noon. I visited with the warden until Mr. Stanley arrived to pick me up.”

“The two of you got back to your house about an hour later.” Cage looked at Stanley. “And the fire was already going?”

“That’s right,” Stanley said. “Whole downstairs was in a blaze, and my first thought was, thank God, Jaymee must have left. Because I didn’t see her car.”

“I heard her cry for help,” Booth said. “I sent Stanley after the ladder.”

So Stanley didn’t act until Booth gave him an order.
The dynamics were becoming clear to Cage.

“I burned myself saving her.” Stanley held out his bandaged hand. “And she had the gall to accuse me of setting the fire.”

“She’s very sorry,” Cage lied. “She’s a wreck. Her boyfriend is missing, and she almost died. Neighbors saw you leave, but no one saw Jaymee arrive. Did you tell anyone she’d be cleaning, by chance?”

“No.”

“You haven’t had issues with any residents around here, have you?” Cage leaned forward, crossing his legs at the ankles. Inserting himself into the inner circle. “I know some people have been pretty upset with Norton Investments coming into town.”

“Now just a minute.” Mayor Asher cut in. Cage had almost forgotten he was there. Evidently, he was a silent part of the triangle. “That’s not true. Most Roselea citizens understand how important Norton Investments is to the city’s future.”

“I’m asking if Mr. Stanley’s had a problem with anyone since his arrival,” Cage said. “Any threats? Rocks through the windows? Nasty comments or confrontations?”

“None,” Stanley said. “Some dirty looks, questions about jobs, that sort of thing. But nothing out of line.”

“So your line of thinking is that this fire is about Jaymee rather than an attack on Stanley and me?” Booth asked.

“Right now, yes. Was anyone besides Stanley aware of your visit?”

Booth shook his head. “Spur of the moment decision. We’re coming up on the city council vote on the zoning, and I decided I needed to be here.”

“Explain that to me,” Cage said. “You bought the property believing it would be zoned commercially?”

“It had been zoned commercially,” Mayor Asher said. “But someone filed a motion based on the recent findings that Semple descendants are in fact related to the Laurents, who were, of course, the founding family of Roselea. It’s a bogus ploy the council will see through.” His gaze slid to Booth, and the mayor nodded, almost to himself, as if to reassure his owner everything was okay. He hadn’t misbehaved.

“Maybe. But it’s also the truth.”

Booth gave him tight smile. “It’s also my land. Did you have any other questions?”

“Not about the zoning, no. Just wanted to make sure I had the story straight.”

“Frankly, I’m concerned you’re not on the right track.” Booth shifted in his chair. His shirtsleeve slid up to reveal a clear, medicinal patch on his forearm. His eyes coolly focused on Cage. “I see why you’d think the arson is related to the reporter’s disappearance, but I disagree. I believe this was a direct strike with the city council vote coming up. The poor girl was collateral damage.”

“It’s a possibility. Especially since we’ve heard Norton Investments has had trouble in other states. Something about a lawsuit over mold and some financial issues?”

“Nothing any fast-growing company doesn’t have to deal with. But I’d like you to further consider the possibility the fire was an act against us.” Booth’s Sunday voice subtly shifted into the tone of a man used to getting his way. “I’d hate to have to call in outside investigators.”

“Is that a threat, Senator?” Cage kept his face arranged in a benign expression, but he allowed just enough irritation to ooze into his voice to remind the man who the authority figure was in the room.

“Of course not.” He smiled and relaxed back into the chair. Another grimace of pain. “I just want to know you’re looking at all angles.”

“Absolutely. Speaking of all angles, I’ve got to ask, why didn’t we know you were a former senator?”

“Well, I suppose because you didn’t do your research. It’s not something I try to hide. But my time in office was short—only a term—and many years ago.” He rubbed the patch absentmindedly.

“Trying to quit smoking?” Cage asked.

Booth chuckled. “I wish. This is a pain patch. One of those timed-release deals. I’ve got an arthritic knee giving me trouble.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Cage said. “Why the one term?”

“Maryland politics are a different sort of beast. You’ve got the pressure from Washington so close and a racially diverse economy that’s always pitted against each other. Honestly, I hated it. I’m better suited to being my own boss rather than representing others. My political aspirations weren’t fair to the people, or to myself. So I didn’t run for reelection and instead went back to the development company I’d founded.” A wry smile crossed his face. “My silly opponent and the man who succeeded me liked to say I left because of my family’s dark history.”

“Which is?”

“John Wilkes Booth was my great-great-great uncle.” He paused, obviously for dramatic effect. “It’s not something I’m especially proud of, but it was a long time ago. Certainly no effect on my beliefs or politics. The accusation was silly campaign rhetoric.”

“Interesting you’re able to trace your history that far,” Cage said. Dani would be skittering all over the place when she heard this one. He’d be lucky to keep her away from Ashland.

“Well, when your family has an infamous claim to fame, it’s hard not to.” Booth’s puffed up chest and smirk made Cage doubt he minded the connection at all. It was probably his go-to story at social functions.

“Good point.” Cage slipped the pictures out of the envelope. “We think Nick might have been doing a story on fraudulent Civil War relics. He had several of these pieces at Jaymee’s place, which again begs the question of whether or not she was the target of the fire.” He kept his eyes on Stanley. He couldn’t come out and say he knew what Stanley had in his closet, but he might be able to glean something from his expression.

Turns out, he didn’t have to.

Stanley scooted to the edge of his chair, wan face flushed. “I bought a belt buckle just like that a few weeks ago with some other stuff. You’re saying it’s fake?”

“These are definitely fake,” Cage said. “We’ve got the actual items, and they’ve been examined by an expert. She’d have to do the same with yours.”

Cage noticed Stanley’s gaze started to shift to Booth, but he caught himself.
He must figure he needs to come up with his own answer on this one.
“They were in the house. I had a buckle, some Confederate money, patches off some uniforms. I was told they were real.”

“By who?” Cage asked. “We’ve checked with the antique shops in town. They’re all too savvy to be fooled. No offense.”

Stanley gave him a sour look. “I don’t like antique stores. The odor makes me sick. I bought them online for my sister. She’s a Civil War nut. Thought she would love them.”

“Where did you buy them?”

“Memory Lane Antiques.”

“Original name,” Booth said. Cage couldn’t get a read on his cold smile. Cage didn’t like it, but he was too busy fighting the reflex to do a victory dance.
Finally, a solid lead.
“Do you have the seller’s email address?”

“It was standard. Owner at Memory Lane. Just do a web search, and you’ll find it.”

“I will.” Cage stood, making a show of slipping the pictures back into their envelope. “Shoot, missed one.” He retrieved the picture of the cartridge box and held it so all three men could see. “Mr. Stanley, you see anything like this on that website?”

Stanley peered at the photograph. “Is that a bullet hole?”

“Made from a Minié ball, yes. This has been confirmed as the real deal.”

Booth looked impressed. Mayor Asher said nothing, staring out the window with disinterest. He tapped his foot impatiently. “I think Mr. Stanley would remember that if he’d seen it, right?”

“I would,” Stanley said.

“Well, thanks for your time.” Cage tucked away the picture. “Any word from Dylan? I need to speak with him as well.”

The mayor’s eyes narrowed, and he tensed in the chair as if he were poised to stand and get into Cage’s face. “Why?”

“For Jaymee,” Cage lied. “About the tour.”

“He’s fighting the fire,” Mayor Asher said. He crossed his legs, sitting up a little straighter. At least something about Dylan made him proud. “I have no idea when he’ll be home.”

Cage’s eyes flickered to the mayor’s raised foot and then back to meet his carefully blank eyes. “You’ve got a little bit of good, ole Mississippi red mud on your shoes, Mayor. I’ll see myself out.”

The red mud
could have come from anywhere, just like he’d told Jaymee. But the mud was too much of a coincidence to ignore, especially since Mayor Asher and nature went together about as well as oil and water. As inconspicuously as he could manage, Cage checked out the yard, remarking to the cleanup crew about the mess the storm had caused. No sign of red mud, and no red mud in the Asher’s drive—blacktop for the town’s richest family. That would have been too easy, anyway. He didn’t think the location of White Creek on the Asher property was anywhere near where Nick’s car had been found, but there was only one way to find out for sure.

Cage headed back to the search area, bypassing the uniforms combing the creek, and hit the dirt road behind the Asher’s property. Dirt roads were a special favorite of his. After his sister’s murder, he’d spent a lot of time driving through the wilder parts of the countryside, finding solace in the overgrown trees and peaceful silence.

Although they’d sold off most of their cotton fields years ago, the Ashers still had a nice parcel of land, some of it former fields left to become wild again, while other areas were patches of thick forest. Well out of eyesight from the house, Cage parked his cruiser on the side of the road. Technically he was trespassing without a warrant, but all he was looking for was dirt. Early afternoon sun burned through some of the drifting smoke haze, and farther away from the fire, the air smelled less like burnt leaves.

He crossed through the fields, into the wooded areas, and back again, eyes sharp for any sign of the red mud, but found nothing. And no sign of White Creek. It probably ran through the property that had been sold years ago. Unless it was closer to the house, the red mud likely didn’t exist on the Asher property. So where were the mayor and Dylan getting it? Neither struck him as the nature type, and he highly doubted they were out for a bonding stroll.

It was a long shot. Only one of the known areas with a lot of clay was in the search grid, and Gina had cleared it. Nick could have stepped in a tiny patch of it. For that matter, so could the Ashers, and they could very easily be unrelated.

Still, in the house, he’d gotten the distinct feeling he was witnessing a choreographed performance, with Wyatt Booth as the director. It could be unrelated to Nick’s disappearance, but those men were hiding something. Stanley had seemed genuinely surprised by the pictures of the antiques, but neither he nor Booth seemed all that surprised by the idea of fakes. Indifference or something else? And he’d never seen Beau Asher take a backseat to anyone. But the mayor had cow-towed to Booth and allowed him to control the conversation. Then again, aligning himself with power and money was nothing new to the mayor, so Cage supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

He’d almost reached the car when his cell rang. Seeing the restricted number, he hoped it was Dylan. He’d left a message for him on his personal phone and at the fire station but figured it would be a long time before he heard anything.