A Deadly Love (20 page)

Johnson stepped forward and faced him directly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why was that?”

He gripped the chair arms until his knuckles turned white. “What does my personal history with Marnie have to do with your investigation?”

“Answer the question please,” Washington said without looking up from his notepad.

“She wanted to take our relationship in a more serious direction. I didn’t.”

Polk licked his lips. “Not a big fan of commitment? So you did the movie star and the realtor. What about the other two?”

He was baiting him. Dillon knew it and still wanted to punch the smug look off the man’s face. “I’ve had little contact with Tricia since she moved to Crescent City shortly after high school. I’ve seen her a few times at the Ship’s Galley, the restaurant where she worked. Steph is a good friend, as is her husband.”

“Did you bang either of them in high school? Maybe you just wanted to. Did they turn you down? Piss you off?”

Dillon leaped to his feet. Fists clenched, he spoke through gritted teeth. “I was
never
involved sexually with Tricia or Stephanie.”

“Please sit down, Mr. Tremayne.” Johnson spoke coldly. “Let’s talk about your grandfather.”

He dropped onto the chair, certain his head would explode. Blood pounded behind his temples. “What about him?”

“He found Cybil McCoy’s body?”

“He did.”

“Would you say your grandfather is a bit senile, living alone in a shack with no electricity and limited contact with the outside world?”

Dillon stared at the woman.
Do they seriously consider Jesse a suspect?
His stomach knotted. “My grandfather’s lifestyle is a choice. He is
not
mentally impaired.”

“Could be he’s slipping a little. Maybe he killed Cybil by accident, then lost it completely and carved her up. Perhaps he got a taste for it.”

Dillon breathed through his nose, trying to slow his heart rate. The pressure building in his chest was making him dizzy. “You’re wrong. Jesse is harmless.”

Washington looked up and smiled. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Tremayne. You may go.”

He rose slowly. “You think the murderer is someone local, a man with ties to these women?”

Polk jerked open the door. “Take off, Tremayne. You might be a big shot in Woodvale and tight with the sheriff, but that doesn’t mean squat to us. We’ll be in touch.”

Washington stopped him with another question. “You tell me, do any of the locals have a short fuse? Have you noticed a change in behavior in one of your old buddies, maybe nervousness or a newfound cockiness?”

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone I know is the sick pervert who killed Cybil and Tricia.”

Johnson laughed, a harsh snigger of amusement that sent a chill down Dillon’s spine. “When it comes right down to it, I bet there’s plenty about your neighbors that would surprise you. Could be the one you least suspect is capable of murder.”

****

Brooke threw open the front door and stared at the uniformed deputy standing on the porch, his fist raised to knock a second time. His badge was prominently displayed on his chest, as was the weapon holstered at his hip. She’d seen him around town, Dwayne something. He lowered his arm and hitched his pants over the roll of fat around his waist. Behind him stood a—woman. Gargantuan was the word that sprang to mind. Brooke tried not to ogle.

“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m Deputy Edwards, and this is Agent Johnson with the FBI. We’re conducting a door to door search of the neighborhood and would like to inspect the premises, with your permission, of course. Do you mind if we come in?”

She brushed straggling hair off her face, stepped back, and held the door open. “Of course not. Are you looking for the missing women?”

“Yes, ma’am, we are.”

“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time here, but I’m happy to cooperate.”

The FBI agent eyed her up and down as she passed through the door. “There wouldn’t be much point in conducting a search if we believed everyone’s proclamation of innocence.”

Her spine stiffened. “I don’t expect you to take my word for it.”

June stepped out of the kitchen. She wore a long, gauze skirt striped in shades of pink and a bright fuchsia T-shirt. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt. “Oh my, visitors, and I’m a complete mess.”

“Not exactly company, Grandma. Deputy Edwards and Agent Johnson are here to search the house.”

Her white eyebrows drew together across her brow as she frowned at the deputy. “Now why on earth would you want to do that?”

“We’re looking for the missing women, Mrs. Ransome.”

“It seems awfully silly to look for them here, but I’m sure you know best. Would either of you care for a cup of tea?”

“This isn’t a social call, ma’am.” Agent Johnson stepped forward, her eyes darting about, her hand hovering near the lapel of her blazer. “Do you mind explaining why you’re both covered in dust and cobwebs?”

Brooke flattened against the wall. “We’re cleaning out the storage room.”

“Oh.” The woman’s alert posture relaxed a fraction. “Perhaps we could start there.”

The tension eased from Brooke’s shoulders. Apparently the FBI wasn’t trained to shoot first and ask questions later.

“Right this way.” June bustled toward the kitchen doorway, a hostess giving the grand tour. “We’re opening a bed and breakfast in the spring. My granddaughter has done wonders sprucing up the house.” She paused and looked back over her shoulder. “Would you like to see the dining room? It’s the pièce de résistance. Don’t you just love that phrase?”

“The storage room first if you don’t mind, ma’am.”

Was there a trace of humor in the woman’s voice? It didn’t seem likely. Brooke trailed behind the others, then sprinted to catch up when an outburst of canine fury erupted from the kitchen.

Agent Johnson’s voice boomed over the barking. “Put the weapon away, deputy. It’s just a dog.”

Brooke pressed her hand to her pounding chest when she saw the gun in Edwards’ hand. “He’s harmless, I swear.” Stepping forward, she dragged Otis toward the back door. His nails skidded across the linoleum as he lunged against her grip. Straining to hold him, she shoved him outside and slammed the door. “Sorry about that.”

Deputy Edwards holstered his gun, his face reddening. “The dog surprised me.”

“His size is a bit daunting.”

The FBI agent frowned. “The storage room, if you don’t mind.”

“Right through here.” With a flourish, June indicated the open door next to the pantry. “I plan to use this space as a bedroom so we can rent out the master upstairs. It was full to bursting with fifty years worth of junk.”

Agent Johnson scanned the room, stepped around a half dozen bulging black trash bags, and checked the closet before moving on. With exhaustive efficiency, she searched the rest of the house. Deputy Edwards huffed along in her wake, finishing the tour in the attic with a thorough examination of the larger trunks and crates.

Brooke crossed her arms over her chest and studied the piles of cast off furniture, wondering how much it would cost to partition off a section of the room for her to sleep in. She didn’t mind clutter, but the set of plastic reindeer and life sized Santa were bound to get on her nerves—

“Would you like to see the root cellar?”

Her neck snapped around. “What root cellar, Grandma?”

“There’s a trap door in the back yard leading down to a glorified hole in the ground. A few of these old houses were built with root cellars back in the day. The soil around here isn’t the best for growing vegetables, but Eli’s mother used to can enough beans and tomatoes to last all year.”

Her eyes grew distant, and a smile curved her lips. “One Thanksgiving when your grandfather and I were still courting, she sent me down with a basket to gather potatoes. Of course I had to pretend the place didn’t give me the heebee jeebees. A spider the size of a dessert plate was perched on top of a Hubbard squash right next to the potato bin. I nearly wet myself.”

Agent Johnson cleared her throat. “If you could show us the trap door, ma’am.”

“I’d be happy to, but I won’t go down into that nasty place. I don’t think I’ve been in the cellar since the Kennedy administration.”

Brooke trooped down the stairs behind the others, her hand pressed firmly to her lips. A giggle erupted, and Deputy Edwards smiled over his shoulder at her. “Your grandmother is quite a character.”

“I was trying to imagine exactly what happened during Kennedy’s presidency to further dampen her enthusiasm for the root cellar.”

The man chortled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He sobered immediately when Agent Johnson turned and raised one brow.

They left the house through the kitchen and crossed the back lawn. June stopped near the garden. “It’s right around here somewhere. Looks like the door got covered over with debris. I haven’t thought about that old cellar in years.”

Brooke retrieved a rake from the shed and set to work on an accumulation of fir needles and dirt. Otis bounded around the side of the house, ignored the law enforcement officers completely, and reached out a paw. She stepped out of the way, knowing she was encouraging bad habits and not caring. “Go for it.”

Dirt flew. Within minutes the dog’s nails scratched wood. She brushed away the last of the fir needles and dead ferns, grasped a rusted metal ring, and gave it a tug. The door didn’t budge.

“Let me try.” The deputy’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red as he heaved the door open. Rank air spewed out. He took a step back and waved his hand in front of his face. “Doesn’t look like anyone has been down here recently.”

“We’ll check anyway.” Unclipping a flashlight from her belt, the agent tested the ladder. It creaked but held her weight. Deputy Edwards wiped a bead of sweat off his brow before following her into the hole. Brooke scratched Otis’s ears and waited in silence beside her grandmother.

The deputy’s round face was the first to emerge. “Nothing but toadstools, spiders, and a few old mason jars down there.”

Agent Johnson brushed a cobweb off her sleeve and turned to stare across the lawn. “We appreciate your cooperation. Do you happen to know if your neighbor is home?”

“Dillon’s at work.” Brooke glanced at her watch and grimaced. “I need to go. I told Zack I’d pick him up at school today.”

“We’re done here.” The agent nodded and headed toward the black sedan parked in the driveway. Deputy Edwards gave them a tentative smile and hurried after her.”

June let out a long sigh. “Do you think Marnie and Stephanie are being held captive somewhere in our little town? Is the man who killed those poor girls really someone we know?”

She squeezed her grandmother’s arm. “I don’t know, and I doubt the FBI really expects to find them so easily. I think they’re using the search as an excuse to check out the locals and look for anything out of place. Who knows what they’ll unearth if they keep digging.”

“They’re hunting for clues, like in a mystery?”

“Exactly.”

“I sure hope they find something that helps.”

“I do, too. I’d better run, Grandma, or I really will be late.”

“Take Otis with you. I don’t like the idea of you wandering around alone, even in broad daylight.”

“Good idea. Let’s go, boy.” The dog backed away from the open root cellar and loped to her side. “Don’t try to shut the door, Grandma. You’ll hurt your back.”

“You’d better close it, then. I don’t want Zack getting any ideas.”

“We’ll let it air out for a while first. I want to check it out after I get home. If it isn’t too damp, maybe we can lay down plastic tarps and store some of the stuff from the attic down there.”

June shuddered. “As long as you don’t expect me to go near that cellar, you can store whatever you like in it. Dark holes give me the willies.”

“Lucky for me I’ve never been claustrophobic.”

Brooke jogged the mile into town and arrived at the school just as the bell rang. She stopped near a cluster of waiting mothers to catch her breath.

“I’m scared silly thinking any one of us could be next. We lock the house up like Fort Knox even during the day,” a plump brunette said.

A tall redhead jammed her clenched fists into the pockets of her windbreaker. “My husband won’t let me go to the store alone. I know it’s because he’s worried, but it’s driving me crazy.”

The third woman frowned. “You can’t be too careful, Elaine.”

Brooke’s lips tightened. Every woman in town lived under a cloud of fear.
We’re all victims.
She forced a smile as Zack ran up carrying a shallow box full of paper cups. Each was half filled with dirt. She reached for the carton as it tipped precariously in his grasp.

“Now I see why you didn’t want to take the bus home.”

“We planted bean seeds. I’m supposed to put three cups in a sunny window and three in a dark place and see which ones grow better.” He wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck in a fierce hug. “And I can’t forget to water them.”

“Sounds like an excellent project.” Brooke glanced over his head and waved to Caroline. “Do you mind playing on the swings for a few minutes while I talk to your teacher?”

“Sure. Come on, Otis.”

The boy and dog raced across the yard. Caroline finished her conversation with a frowning blonde woman with a baby attached to her hip and hurried over. Her low heels clicked on the sidewalk. “Have you heard any news?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

She bit her lip. “I thought maybe Harley was keeping Dillon in the loop.”

“I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. He’s been tied up with problems at work. I did have a visit from the FBI today. They searched our house.”

Caroline’s eyebrows shot up. “Short man with a bad attitude? He and one of the state detectives searched my home last night.”

“No, an officious Amazon accompanied by Deputy Edwards.” She smiled at Elliot as he approached.

“Word has it poor Wayne shakes in his shoes every time she looks at him,” he said, wrapping his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders. “Agent Washington turned up on my porch this morning and nearly made me late for classes.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I get the feeling he’s a lot smarter than he pretends to be.”