The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (23 page)

"So?"

"You don't see his face clearly. He's essentially facing away from the camera. We can't get much more than height and coloring from this—and we already have that from Camilla. He's being careful. The woman probably insisted on the picture, and this was his way of making sure he wasn't identified from it."

"You think he's that smart?"

"Oh yeah. He's that smart. Look at the different women he's fooled. His wife was a teacher. Then there was an Olympic team coach. Then a nurse. Then an accountant. These aren't stupid women. They aren't gullible. They're living successful lives on their own. But he's getting under their skin somehow. He's putting them at ease. He's offering them love, and they don't notice it's a con until he's ripped them off."

"But why the murders?"

Ryan shrugged. "Maybe he's just afraid of being caught. He doesn't want anyone pressing charges against him. He's figured out the perfect way to keep them from testifying. And he's clever. He's making sure no signs point to him. Every one of these deaths was investigated, and every one was ruled an accident." He looked at the board again. "All in different jurisdictions...."

"Why?"

"Why different jurisdictions? So no one puts it together. If he stayed in one city—even one as large as L.A., the pattern would raise red flags. But if he's moving from place to place, and never commits the same crimes twice in the same jurisdiction—"

"—no one realizes he's doing it."

"Exactly. Until us. We're going to nail him. This SOB is good. Really good. I find it hard to believe there are only five victims. He must have been doing this for years—maybe long before Oliver was born, before he married his wife."

"But all those murders, wouldn't the pattern be found out before now?"

"Sometimes criminals get away with it for years before they're finally caught." He pushed thoughts of Sara's killer—a three-time loser wasted on meth—out of his mind. No time to think of that failure. He had to protect Camilla. "Maybe—" Ryan thought about it, and Joe watched him silently until he continued, "—maybe he wasn't always killing. We've got to widen the search. Find out where he was before this. I want you to get more background on Joyce Ashford. Find out where they married. We've got to go back farther on this guy."

Joe worked on the computer for a while. Ryan kept going over the papers, knowing he was missing something. He had to figure this out. He was running out of time. The perp was going to make another try for Camilla and Oliver. He just knew it.

"No marriage record in the state of California for a Joyce Ashford."

Ryan pulled out the file on Oliver's mother. "The obituary says she was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. See if you can find out if they married there."

"Bingo!" Joe said shortly after that. He read off the marriage info—Dennis Henning and Joyce Ashford. Milwaukee, Wisconsin. "I know what's next," Joe said. "Search for matching crimes in Wisconsin."

Ryan paced the floor while Joe worked.

"Con artist named Dennis Henning had been arrested in a number of petty cons, but they stopped about nine years ago." He double-checked. "That's around the time he got married."

"And the time he moved to California. So we've got a lead on him." He asked the next question, dreading the answer. "How many of those victims are dead, can you figure it out?"

"Here's the weird thing," Joe said.

Ryan looked up.

Joe looked excited. "He didn't kill 'em."

"None of them?"

"None of the victims back East. None of them are dead, far as I can tell. I'm going to have to do more research, but at least the last three I've checked appear to be alive. And they testified against him and he went to jail several times, plea-bargained out, served short sentences. The usual pattern for a petty crook. Nothing happened to the victims."

"He didn't want to go to jail after he was married?" Ryan muttered. "But then why would he kill his wife and go after his son?"

"Maybe he went nuts," Joe offered.

"But there's no pattern to this."

"Maybe it's just random," Joe said.

"Nothing's random. There's always a pattern. Even insane people have patterns—quirks, habits, obsessions, trademarks. In fact, the more insane, the more consistent the m.o. tends to be. It's part of the obsessiveness of the criminal."

"But what's the pattern here? Why would Dennis Henning be a petty con man for years, then get married and have a kid, and start killing his victims—starting with his wife and the mother of his son?"

Ryan looked at the white board with its sea of red marker scribbles.

"I don't know. I really don't know."

~*~

Chapter 13

Camilla's Monday morning started with a message on her cell from Robin. She stopped by the real estate office after dropping Oliver at school.

"Hey, Camilla. Thanks for coming."

"Hey, Robin." Camilla plopped down into the chair in Robin's office. "What's up?"

Robin handed her a mug of steaming coffee (two sugars, a dash of cinnamon), and Camilla sipped it. "I could get used to this." She had gotten used to it. They had been meeting for coffee practically every day.

"Yeah, well...." Robin sat back down at her desk and began shuffling papers around.

"What's the matter? Don't tell me your check to the IRS bounced." She laughed.

Robin shook her head. "I got an offer on the Honeymoon Cottage."

"What?" She set down her coffee mug. "That's great." She didn't feel like it was great, though. She was really torn. One part of her was really going to miss Pajaro Bay. Miss the guy who felt like he belonged with the house. With her.

"Wow," she said. It was really sinking in. She was going to be free of this—free of Dennis's hold on her; free of debt; free of the drag of her reputation following her around town. She could really go away and start over now.

"Yeah, well," Robin said. "I need to get in touch with your real estate agent. Go over the details." She sounded really unhappy about it.

"It's good news, Robin. Thank you for finding a buyer."

"Well, you know, they've only seen the exterior, and they peeked in the windows while you were gone on Saturday afternoon. I'd be glad to put them off for a while if you want me to—like maybe until sometime next year." She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound.

Camilla shook her head. "No, I'm ready to sell. I'm ready to move on."

"I was really hoping it would work out differently."

"I know." She looked at Robin. "Part of me was, too. But it's got to be this way. I want to sell the place—I have to sell the place. It's not an option. It's what I need to do to get on with my life."

"And what about Ryan?"

She felt tears behind her eyelids and blinked them back. "Ryan?" she said cheerfully. "He's cute and all, but it wasn't going to happen between us."

"It wasn't?"

She shook her head. "Nah." Those stupid tears pushed forward, trying to get out. She turned away from Robin for a minute and sipped her coffee until she got herself under control. "He's not looking for anything, and neither am I. Just one of those things."

Robin looked at her for a good long while, then just said, "all right, Camilla. If that's the way you want it. What's your agent's number?"

She pulled out the flyer she'd kept stuffed in her purse and rattled off the number.

"I'm sorry, Camilla."

"Why?"

"I feel like I’m doing something wrong getting an offer on your place. Maybe I can put it off for a while."

"No. In this market who knows how long it'll be 'til another offer comes along. Go ahead."

"I’m going to miss you."

"We just met a couple of weeks ago."

She looked hurt. "I don't make friends that easily, Camilla. I thought you were one of those people I’d really become close friends with." She added, trying to make it light, "Maybe even tell you the gruesome details about my divorce. I guess not."

She realized she'd really hurt Robin. But Robin couldn't really be her friend—not if she knew everything about her. So she just put her hand out to her across the desk. "I’m sorry, Robin. I thought that about you, too. We could have been buds. But I’ve got to go away. It's what has to happen to get my life together."

Robin pulled her hand away. "I know. I’m glad I could find you a buyer. See ya around, soul sister."

Camilla left her coffee mug on the desk and walked out, smiling half-heartedly at Robin when she closed the door.

She felt rotten. She'd closed off a friendship before it could even get started. She'd done that before. That was why she had no one to turn to when everything fell apart. But what could she do? She had to leave.

~*~

"Ooh, I just hate that woman," Camilla said softly as she hung up the phone that evening. Oliver was asleep on his air mattress in the living room, and she and Ryan were sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of cocoa before she went to bed.

"What woman?"

"That Thea Paris. My real estate agent. She agreed to meet Robin and me here tomorrow morning but she's being a real creep about it. She's always such a snot."

Ryan laughed. "A creep and a snot. You sound like a little kid."

She made a face at him. "I don't care. She makes me feel like a little kid with her perfect hair and perfect wardrobe and her so-superior attitude. When I told her about the sale, she acted like she was all offended, just because she didn't come up with the buyer herself."

"Maybe she's mad because she has to split the commission with Robin."

"No. I think she just hates me." She brushed her unruly curls self-consciously. "Do you think I should get my hair straightened?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. Thea has the best hair. Perfectly straight black hair to her waist. Would you think I'd look better like that?"

He laughed. "You? With straight black hair?"

"Not black. But straight instead of curly. And maybe makeup to cover my freckles...." She looked at him, feeling as awkward as judgmental people always made her feel. "I'm not exactly elegant-looking."

He laughed again. "Thank God for that. You're pretty perfect just the way you are, Camilla."

The way he looked at her when he said it made a thrill go down her spine, and she felt herself start to blush.

He frowned. "I—I don't suppose...?"

She looked down at her hands, clasped around her mug of cocoa. "Suppose what?"

"You've thought about what I said?"

She kept her eyes on her hands. The knuckles were white from gripping the cup. Ryan was saying exactly what she wanted him to say, but it was wrong.

"It wouldn't last," she said softly, still looking at the cup.

"Why?"

"Because—you don't know anything about me."

"That's why we could spend more time together. To find out if it would last. That's what dating's for."

Not for her it wasn't. Dating was an ordeal of her pretending to be Camilla Stewart, bright, college-educated accountant for a high-tech firm; good, law-abiding person with no skeletons in her closet, or relatives in San Quentin. Dating was a strain. And she couldn't take care of Oliver, or get on with her own life, under that strain.

So she shook her head at the mug of cocoa.

The kitchen chair creaked as Ryan leaned back in it. "I see."

"There's still a 30-day escrow until I get the money."

He waved a hand. "So you're saying I have thirty days to change your mind."

That wasn't what she was saying at all, but the thought of leaving him was suddenly too much for her to take.

She stood up and took her mug over to the sink to dump it.

He was behind her, resting those big hands on her shoulders. "So there's a chance?"

No, she thought. Not a chance in Hades she was going to open her heart to him when he'd reject her once he realized what a façade she'd created to cover her true self. No. No chance at all.

She turned to face him and kissed him, hard. Her mouth opened and his matched hers, letting her stand on tiptoes to explore the surprising softness of him while her hands reached up to brush the rough stubble on his face.

They came up for air, and he whispered into her curls, "I'll take that as a yes."

His mouth found hers again, hungry, claiming her, and she let go, let all the doubts go, not wanting to lose this moment, ignoring what would come after she came back down to earth. When the kiss ended she rested her head against his chest, felt his heart pounding as hard as her own was.

"Can you stay in town until the escrow closes?" she whispered.

"Of course I will.

"And then where will we go?"

"Wherever the road takes us."

She felt her breath catch in her throat. She wasn't running alone any more. She could run with him. They could do this together.

She glanced out toward the living room, where Oliver slept. She walked over to the kitchen doorway and watched the boy sleep. She stood there for a long time, listening to his steady breathing.

It was right to run away. Wasn't it? To run away from their work, their family, their friends. Run away from everything they didn't want to face.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she felt the big doubt looming. This would end badly. It had to. Anything built on a lie would collapse eventually.

But that was for tomorrow, or the next day, or a year from now. For now, she could pretend that this man, this man so far out of her league, was hers. And she was his.

She turned back to the kitchen, where Ryan stood, the yearning in his eyes making all other doubts disappear from her mind.

She took him by the hand. "We'll go with you, Ryan. We'll go as far as the road takes us."

~*~

Ryan came into the kitchen whistling the next morning. "I feel like whistling myself," she said to him, and he grinned in response.

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and she blushed and pulled away, since Oliver was sitting at the kitchen table watching them.

She poured Oliver's cereal with hands that shook. She was exhausted, running on pure adrenalin. They'd stayed up all night making plans, dreaming of this wild, unfettered future together.