Grave Danger (43 page)

Exactly the knife that had been found in Eli’s chest.

He hated this. She should be his prime suspect. As a cop, he lived by the rule that there is no such thing as coincidence. Investigation is usually absolutely straightforward. Follow the evidence and find the suspect. But that wasn’t the case here. She’d been set up.

Now he knew with certainty they would find Libby’s fingerprints on the murder weapon. But he couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—arrest her again, meaning he had to find the real murderer, fast. “Any guess when the knife disappeared?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been in here much since last Thursday. I haven’t cooked at all.” She paused. “Was Eli killed with my knife?”

Yes
. “Maybe.”

“My hairbrush is also missing. You might find my hairs on Eli’s body.”

Crap. Could the situation get any worse? “When did you first notice your brush was missing?”

“When I showered last Thursday. After I was attacked.” She met his gaze and he knew they were both thinking about the same thing. Her voice turned husky. “Before we went to your house.”

“Your brush has been missing for a week. That’s serious premeditation.”

“I didn’t kill Eli.” Fear had entered her voice.

He held her steady gaze. Trusting her went against years of training and experience, but none of that mattered. Not with her, not in this situation. “I believe you.”

Her shoulders dropped as she let out a breath. He wanted to reach out and hold her but didn’t think she’d allow it. “So, tell me about the will.”

“What do you want to know?” Some of her chilly reserve was gone.

“Do you think Angela found it?” he asked.

She bit her lip and nodded, slowly. “I think so.”

“And you think Earl, Laura, or James killed her?”

“One, all three, I don’t know. Lyle is my chief suspect.”

“But Lyle didn’t kill Eli Banks last night, and I believe the two crimes are related.”

She didn’t ask why. She must have come to the same conclusion. “You might want to find out who Eli’s heirs are,” she said. “He owns two percent of the mill.”

That was news to him. “Two percent. How’d he manage that?”

“The usual way. Blackmail.”

Mark started. “What?”

She smiled, clearly pleased with herself. “Maybe I should become a cop.”

“Maybe not.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m not nearly annoying enough.”

He gave her a pointed look. “But you’re getting there.”

She laughed. She reached for the coffee and scooped grounds into the filter. She had accepted their unspoken truce. “Eli Banks was the lawyer who wrote out the will. He probably told Lyle about the will the minute Millie left his office. Years after she died, Eli pretended to broker a deal between the union and the mill. Part of that deal gave him two percent of TL&L and the union three percent. I can’t think of any reason for the Montgomerys to give Eli two percent of the mill except blackmail.”

“Did Eli have the will?”

“He might have had a copy. Or he just threatened to talk. Either way they had to pay him off. I bet when the union negotiations were going down, Eli saw his chance for a big payoff that was nice and legal, no money laundering required.”

“The union got three percent. How does that fit into the puzzle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was Eli involved with the union in any other capacity?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I think the union is important, though. By all accounts, Millie wanted TL&L unionized. And I think Angela focused on the union in the last months of her research.”

“Was she looking for someone Millie trusted?” he asked.

“I think so. You should know that the union had no Kalahwamish Indian members. The union shouldn’t have been a part of her study.”

A small thrill of excitement spread through him. Libby was on the right track, he was sure of it. He reached for a mug and waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing. “I want to know everything you know about the union. I don’t care if it seems insignificant.”

“Billy—Millie’s oldest child and Angela’s father—came back from the war in 1945. The union started in 1946. That wasn’t a coincidence. Everyone thinks Billy got the union going.”

“But no one knows?”

“No. He had to work in secret. It was too dangerous. Lyle had organizers beaten. One was killed. Then someone—probably Billy—set up a system for controlling the flow of information. Everyone worked in cells—similar to the triangular structure of terrorist cells. Traitors were rooted out with false information. The workers managed to hold a secure meeting.

“Lyle didn’t know about the union until he showed up at work one day to find all the employees on strike. They stood solidly together. No scabs. The mill shut down for a month, until Lyle—his children really—Lyle only ran TL&L in their name—gave in and signed the agreement supposedly brokered by Eli Banks. The union got better pay, better hours, vacation time, and three percent of the mill’s annual profits to divide among the membership.”

“And Eli Banks got another two percent,” he said.

“Yes. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“How many people were on strike for a month to get three percent?”

“Two-hundred and thirty-seven loggers and mill workers,” she said.

“Why would the union agree to Banks receiving such a large share?”

“Fear, probably. After a month, they were anxious and needed to get back to work. They were all—absolutely everyone—living on company land. They faced eviction and starvation. They were saved because TL&L had a huge post-war contract with the US government to provide lumber for housing. The company had a deadline to meet or they’d lose the contract and no more federal contracts would be forthcoming. Without that contract, Lyle might’ve evicted everyone and started over. He had cash reserves from the war—he could’ve out-waited the union. Guess who bid the contract with the government?”

“Billy.”

“Exactly. He timed everything. He set up the contract. He knew the supply dates would make Lyle cave. He personally selected the strike date. I’m sure of it.”

Mark poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. Libby hesitated, and then joined him.

“Seems to me this information is as off-topic for you as it was for Angela,” he said.

“I’ve interviewed a lot of people in the last two weeks. Many of them wanted to talk about Billy Montgomery whether I asked about him or not. When Lyle was alive, no one could openly talk about what he did. Billy’s a folk hero in Coho. He earned several medals for bravery while fighting in the Pacific Theater, but people here think that’s nothing compared to taking on his father. He was on his own, and in his own way, he won.”

“But his dad never knew.”

“No. Billy didn’t want credit, and he didn’t want to destroy Lyle. He just wanted to make things better for Coho. He couldn’t take on Lyle in the open—he would have lost. His brothers and sister sided with their father every time. If he wanted to stay and make things better in Coho, he had to work in secret.”

“And Billy was Angela’s father.”

“Yes. She hated Lyle. I don’t think I realized quite how much until I read her journal.” Libby stopped suddenly, clearly worried about her slip.

“I’ve read the journal. Jason sent it to me this morning.”

“Good. I thought you should have it.”

“Angela wasn’t like Billy,” Mark resumed. “She wanted to openly confront Lyle.”

“Yes. But she was careful. She knew she would be in danger if Lyle found out she was looking for Millie’s will. So she kept it to herself. She was so cautious she never even wrote exactly what she was looking for in her journal.”

“But at some point, Lyle learned what she was looking for, and she disappeared.”

Libby nodded. “Yesterday I left a message for the union archivist; I’m trying to track down a union organizer Millie might have trusted.”

“Good. I want to know everything you find out.”

“I’m going to interview Earl Montgomery today at four.”

“Be careful. Bring Simone or someone from your crew with you.” He looked at his watch and cursed. “I should run.” He touched her hand. “I mean it about being careful. If I could do it without any of the Montgomerys finding out, I would officially re-open the investigation into your attack. But I don’t want to give them any hint that you’re cooperating with me. They’ve worked so hard to keep us at odds; it would be nice if they believe their plan is working.”

She looked startled, and then wary. “So you understand that one of them is my stalker? One of them attacked and framed me?”

“Yes. I’ve listened to the tape and read Angela’s journal. I went over the timeline of your stalking and I think the Montgomerys wanted to destroy your credibility. I intend to figure out who attacked you and make them pay. ”

“You’re a little late,” she said.

“You have to understand, based on the evidence, my actions were correct. They did a damn good job of framing you.”

“I don’t have to understand anything.”

He’d expected her to hold on to her anger, but he was still disappointed. They would never be able to move forward if she couldn’t view the situation from his perspective. “I had to treat you like any other suspect. I had to make the call to arrest you.”

“But you didn’t have to believe it.”

“Libby, I’ve been a cop for eighteen years. Do you want to know how many times I’ve seen that much evidence against a suspect and then found out they were innocent?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Exactly none.”

“But you
know
me. I’m not just some other suspect.”

“That only made the situation worse. I
wanted
to believe you were innocent because I’m in love with you. But I’m a cop and trusting cops end up dead cops. We follow evidence, not feelings.”

He hadn’t meant to tell her he loved her. He waited for her reaction.

“It’s too late,” she said.

His pager beeped. He looked at the number, recognizing it as the medical examiner’s. “Listen, I’ve gotta run—there’s this minor little investigation going on—we can talk later.” He sprinted toward the front door.

She followed. “There is no
later
for us.”

He couldn’t leave this way. He stopped short and turned. She walked right into him and he trapped her in his arms, cupped her face, and kissed her. He smiled when her hands gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, and she made a soft sound that said she wanted more. He kissed her as though he had all the time in the world and nothing else on his mind.

She looked dazed when he reluctantly let her go. “I intend to change your mind,” he said. He’d already told her how he felt; there was no point in holding back now. “I’m completely, totally, crazy in love with you, Libby. I’ll do whatever it takes to win you back.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
F
IVE

W
ITH RECORDER AND NOTEBOOK
in hand, Libby set out for her interview with Earl. She’d taken Mark’s advice and asked Alex to accompany her for the interview, but he’d called and told her he was running late and would meet her at the Montgomery mansion, so she walked alone across the historic district to a Gothic mansion that featured prominently in her own personal horror movie.

En route, she passed white picket fences surrounding lush green lawns, which fronted immaculate old houses complete with gingerbread siding, cupolas, and mullioned windows. Had Jason’s deal had gone through? Had the town been sold? In the coming months, the streets could be filled with people in period costume, reenacting the lives of those who lived here one hundred twenty-five years ago.

What would happen to the town and the deal if she found the will? Legally everything in the historic district could belong to the tribe.

Her cell phone rang, bringing her back to the present. She answered the phone and kept walking.

“Hi, Ms. Maitland. I’m the archivist for the Millworker’s Union. I understand you’re interested in locating someone who was in the union in the 1940s. You’re in luck. I was able to pull the Coho chapter boxes quickly, and even found the name you were looking for—Nathan Simms, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“There’s a notation in the file. In the seventies, another researcher wanted to get in touch with Mr. Simms. We managed to track down an address for her. It’s old, but the address is a starting point.”

“Was the researcher named Angela Caruthers?”

“How on earth did you know that?”

“Actually, it’s her research I’m following up on. I would love the address.”

She stopped long enough to jot down the Richland, Washington address. After disconnecting, she dialed Eastern Washington information for the number. A Simms still lived at that address. She called the number and an answering machine picked up. An elderly female voice spoke very carefully, “You have reached the Simms residence…”

Her heart beat loudly as adrenaline flooded her system. She was on the right track. She could feel it. She left a message.

She’d promised Mark she’d keep him updated and dialed his work number, and then hesitated. Throughout the day, her feelings for him had bounced between gut-wrenching pain and euphoric hope. Maybe they could work things out. But could she trust him to stand by her, or was he like her father?