Secret Sisters (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Okay,” Abe said. “I think we may just possibly have the first, faint glimmering of a full-on conspiracy theory.”

“What, exactly, are you thinking?” Daphne asked.

They were sitting on the bench that she had come to think of as their bench. The parade of dogs, joggers, and bicyclists looked the same as it had earlier—same high-end athletic gear, same high-end and not-so-high-end dogs. The only difference this time was that she was eating popcorn and Abe was drinking a caffeine-charged soda.

“I'm thinking that maybe the young and very talented Mr. Seavers developed a sharp stock-picking program,” Abe said. “And I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, Egan Webster murdered him and stole the computer that contained the program.”

Daphne exhaled all the way to her toes. She hovered there at the bottom of the breath for a beat and then inhaled.

“That's quite a theory you're working on,” she said.

“I know, but it ties things together.”

“Well, it would explain why Webster's financial talents blossomed in the years following his departure from his old brokerage firm,” she admitted.

“Yes.”

Daphne munched some popcorn while she thought about that. “The thing is, we're talking about not just one, but two murders. There was a woman killed at the scene, too.”

“Maybe just collateral damage as far as Webster was concerned.”

“If you're right, that's a pretty serious accusation. And one we probably could never prove.”

“Keep in mind that this whole thing started with a secret so dangerous that Edith Chase was afraid it could get you and your mom and Madeline killed. A secret that made her afraid to go to the Cooper Island police. It was so dangerous that she sent you and your mother away from Cooper Island, and then she quietly shut down the resort and took Madeline out of state.”

Daphne stopped munching popcorn. She watched the bright sun spark on the water. “Webster was a very powerful man. At the time, he more or less owned Cooper Island. He probably owned the police chief.”

“Webster had a hedge fund empire to protect and maybe a couple of murders to conceal.”

“And now he's got a son who is about to go into the big leagues of politics,” Daphne said. “As the father of a U.S. senator, Egan Webster will have even more access to power than he had as the head of a successful hedge fund. Even more to protect.”

“If any of this is even close to the truth, then we have to assume that whatever was in that briefcase would be enough to implicate Webster in the murders of Carl Seavers and Sharon Richards.”

“Madeline's grandmother called it insurance,” Daphne whispered.

“What?”

“The contents of the briefcase,” Daphne said. “Edith Chase referred to it as insurance.”

They meditated on that in silence for a time.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Daphne asked eventually.

“Depends. Are you thinking about the very attractive journalist who interviewed Gillian a few months ago?”

“Uh-huh. Ramona Owens. Where does she fit into this thing?”

“I have no idea,” Abe said.

He took out his phone. Jack Rayner must have answered on the first ping because Abe started talking almost immediately. Daphne watched the parade on the jogging path while she listened to the one-sided conversation.

Abe rattled off the facts and followed up with his own speculations. The call ended abruptly.

“Well?” Daphne said.

“He likes my theory,” Abe said. “But he pointed out that it leaves us with a couple of real big questions: Who has the briefcase now and what do they plan to do with the contents.”

“So what happens next?”

“We go back to Cooper Island and await developments.”

“Is Jack sure there will be developments?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is he always right about that kind of thing?”

“Always. Remember, he used to consult for the FBI.”

“What kind of consulting?”

“Profiling. He was very, very good at it. People said he had a knack for predicting what the bad guys would do next.”

She sank against the back of the bench and stretched her legs out in front of her. “You like doing this kind of work, don't you?”

He shrugged. “Probably appeals to the old gamer in me. In some ways it's the ultimate game.”

She shook her head, very certain now. “More like the ultimate art. Get it right and you pull a little truth out of chaos. You're an artist, Abe. That's what you are. And what's more, you're a very good artist.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“I printed out your media schedule.” Xavier pulled a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase and set it on the desk. The pages were neatly stapled in the upper left-hand corner. “It's on your smart phone as well, but I know you prefer hard copy when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Thanks.” Travis leaned forward in his chair and picked up the schedule. He leafed through the list of interviews. “Looks like you pulled in a lot of coverage. Nice mix.”

“There's a bunch of small, local, and regional stuff in the morning—radio and TV. I even threw in the Cooper Island High School newspaper. Sorry about that. But you know the rule.”

“Never neglect the hometown media.”

Xavier went to stand at the window. “The locals can make or break you, especially at the beginning. The kids will probably be thrilled. Even if they're not, their parents will be, and it's the parents who vote.”

“Right.” Travis set the schedule on the desk. “Anything else I need to know?”

“That's it, at least for now. I gave Patricia her schedule a few minutes
ago. I think you're both up to speed, but I'll be following around right behind you like a faithful puppy dog in case there's a glitch.”

“What about Mom and Dad?”

“I see them next. I've got their talking points. The trick will be to make sure Dad doesn't go off-message. He's used to being the star of the show, you know. It's not going to be easy for him to step back and let you go into the spotlight.”

“I know. Thanks, you've done a hell of a job, Xavier. I appreciate it.”

Xavier turned around to face him. His blue eyes were alight with enthusiasm and anticipation. “Hey, we're just getting started. This is just one step on the way to the White House. We're going to change the world, remember?”

“I remember,” Travis said.

After all these years he was still in awe of Xavier's ability to counterfeit human emotions. Xavier could project whatever he wanted you to see. At the moment he was doing an excellent job of portraying the loyal younger brother who wanted nothing more than to help his big brother fulfill a grand destiny. He was so good in the role that there were times when Travis found himself wanting to buy the act.

But he had learned long ago that with Xavier, it was all an act. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who could see the cold-blooded snake just beneath the surface.

“Well, that's it for now.” Xavier turned to go toward the door. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

“One more thing before you go,” Travis said. “Any word on what caused the explosion out at the old hotel yesterday?”

Xavier paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Dad talked to Chief Dunbar and the fire chief. The blast and the fire have been labeled suspicious, but that's mostly because Madeline Chase and Rayner insist that there was someone else at the scene—a woman who told them that she was Tom Lomax's granddaughter.”

“Yeah, I heard that much. Mom doesn't believe Lomax had a granddaughter, but that doesn't mean someone isn't pretending to be related to him. The question is, why? Lomax didn't have anything worth stealing. Everyone around here knows that. And why try to kill Madeline Chase and Jack Rayner?”

“Beats me.” Xavier got the door open. “You'll have to ask them.”

Travis leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Speaking of Rayner, everyone on the island is aware of the confrontation that took place between the two of you at the Crab Shack. What, exactly, happened?”

“There was no confrontation.” Xavier's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I stopped to say hello to Madeline. Rayner got up suddenly and crashed into me. The clumsy bastard knocked me on my butt. It was a little embarrassing but no harm done.”

That was bullshit. Anything that knocked Xavier on his butt in front of an audience constituted a serious affront—one that warranted revenge.

“Be careful, Xavier. You said Rayner was in the security business.”

“Trust me, I've got everything under control. I had Mom invite him and Madeline Chase to the reception for the old man. I figure Rayner and I can take a little walk along the cliffs and have a chat. Get a few things straightened out.”

And maybe Rayner would suffer a fatal fall from the top of the cliffs, Travis thought. He didn't see any way that fire could be involved in such an accident, but that didn't mean that Xavier wouldn't improvise something.

Xavier went out the door. Travis sat quietly for a while.

Xavier was a dangerous sociopath, but he was one very smart sociopath. There was no way to know what he had planned in the way of revenge, but he was in the red zone now. Something had to be done.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

She should have run, Ramona thought. She gripped the steering wheel very tightly and drove fast through the rainy night. The instant she found out that Madeline Chase and Jack Rayner had survived the explosion, she should have run.

Instead, she'd told herself she had time. It had been easy enough to get off the island in the boat. With luck it would be weeks or even months before the right storm or tide conditions exposed the rental car in the water at the foot of the cliffs.

She would run tonight, just as soon as she got the last payment. She would drive back to Seattle and destroy every scrap of evidence that connected her to the Ramona Owens identity. She would pick up her carefully concealed go-bag and head for the airport. Everything she needed for a new identity was inside. There was something else in the go-bag as well—copies of every single bit of damning evidence that she had found inside the briefcase. It always paid to take out insurance when you did business with dangerous people.

The rain was getting heavier. She began to worry that she had missed the sign. Relief swept through her when it finally appeared out
of the darkness, glowing neon-bright. The roadside restaurant advertised twenty-four-hour food and drink to the weary traveler.

It's almost over,
she thought. Finally, the project was about to conclude. She was about to collect the biggest payday of her career. She smiled at the thought. The money was unbelievable. So much money—enough to finance a new life in a place far, far away. Enough to live the way she had always dreamed of living.

She had been working penny-ante scams her whole life, but the Cooper Island project was the big score she had dreamed about. After tonight everything would be different.

The restaurant was located just off the highway. The lights were on inside, although it was one o'clock in the morning and the parking lot was mostly empty. Ramona decided that the two cars in front probably belonged to the late-night staff. When she looked through the windows she could not see anyone seated at the tables or the counter.

She drove slowly around to the rear of the restaurant, following instructions. The weak yellow glare of a lone streetlamp illuminated a small portion of the parking area, but it waged a losing battle against the darkness.

There were two vehicles parked side by side in the shadows. A man and a woman were in the front seat of one of the cars. The window on the passenger side was down.

Another man sat behind the wheel of the second vehicle. His window was also down. There was a negotiation going on. Someone was selling and someone was buying. Drugs or sex, Ramona thought. She'd been there at various times in her life. But never again.

When her headlights speared the scene, the meeting broke up abruptly. Both cars roared out of the parking lot and disappeared in the rain.

She brought her vehicle to a stop but left the engine running.

Tonight it would be finished. The only part she regretted was
conning the old man. She had developed an unexpected fondness for him. Maybe in some way he really had become the grandfather she'd never known. He had been so thrilled to discover that he had a long-lost granddaughter. She hadn't realized that he was going to die. For a time she had told herself that maybe his death had been caused by an intruder, just as the police said.

But when she had been instructed to lure Chase and Rayner into the maintenance building and lock them inside, she had finally acknowledged the reality of her situation. She was working for a cold-blooded killer.

She opened the console and took out the gun she had stashed inside. Just in case.

Another set of headlights lanced the shadows of the parking lot. She watched the dark car in her rearview mirror. It parked directly behind her. The driver got out, a briefcase in one hand. Ramona relaxed a little. A briefcase full of money, as promised.

She lowered her window but kept her hand on the gun, holding it just out of sight alongside her thigh.

“It's about time you got here,” she said.

She let go of the gun so that she could get a good grip on the heavy briefcase. She turned to put it on the passenger seat.

She caught a glimpse of the gun out of the corner of her eye, but by then it was far too late to pick up her own weapon.

Should have run,
she thought.

And then it was over.

The shot echoed loudly in the darkness, but the night shift working in the roadside café were not fools. They did not go outside to investigate the events in the rear parking lot. They locked the doors and called the police.

By the time the cops arrived, the killer was several miles away.