Grave Danger (8 page)

He once again kissed her hello. She wished she could accept it as a simple gesture of friendship but the kiss put her on edge. “I made reservations for us at the restaurant in the Thorpe Hotel,” he said.

“Great. I love that old building.”

“Let’s walk,” he said.

The entire historic district of Coho was still owned by Thorpe Long & Lumber—and therefore, Jason himself. First occupied by white settlers in the early 1850s, by the mid-1870s Coho was a thriving mill town. Now Coho was a pristine example of a late-nineteenth century community. Developed before mass-production of the automobile, one of the things Libby loved about the place was in the historic district, everyone walked everywhere, rain or shine.

Today the weather was shine—a perfect Pacific Northwest summer day. They neared the general store, where people stepped out onto the wide front porch, bags of groceries in hand. Residents going about their normal, everyday lives, the only difference from a hundred years ago being that back then, the store would have been closed on Sunday. Shoppers waved to Jason, who waved back.

Farther up the road, they passed the Masonic Hall, followed by the mill-owned church, where children raced through the arched doorway as services let out. These families were counting on Jack to build the Cultural Center to provide jobs and tourists for the depressed economy, a reminder of what was riding on that permit.

At the end of a beautifully maintained driveway lined with madrona trees stood the waterfront hotel. A stately old building, it was the jewel in the crown of TL&L’s holdings. The bustle of activity inside surprised her after the tranquil walk through town. A group of tourists gathered for a walking tour of the historic district, their guide an elderly mill worker Libby was scheduled to interview later in the week.

The hostess fawned over Jason as she led them to a booth in the back of the restaurant. A half-dozen stunning Tiffany-style chandeliers decorated the room with warm, colorful light. Ceiling-to-floor wooden partitions elaborately carved more than a hundred years before by a master of the craft separated the booths. The hotel and restaurant were the most upscale establishment in town. That the gorgeously maintained building was in tiny Coho remained a marvel to Libby.

The hostess gave Libby a menu, but not Jason, and immediately poured him a sample from a bottle of red wine that was waiting on the table. As a show of status, it was a bit heavy handed, and she wondered if it was done at Jason’s request or if the hostess was trying to curry favor.

Jason took a sip and nodded to the hostess, who then filled his glass. “Wine, Libby, or would you prefer something else?” he asked.

She agreed to wine, simply to speed the hostess’ departure. When they were alone, she took a deep breath and said, “I have a question for you about the scare I had at the site on Friday and related legal issues.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d tell me what’s going on.”

She told him about her Suburban being stolen, and then her suspicion that someone threatened her from the blackberries. She sipped her wine and then broached the first topic she wanted his opinion on. “I called the police for help, but my report wasn’t taken seriously. Then I became the focus of the investigation.”

“Not taking the victim seriously happens all the time for minor offenses, and from what you’ve described, I hate to say it, but Mark’s reaction is understandable. He came on pretty strong on Friday, though.”

She frowned and reluctantly told him what happened with Aaron Brady three years ago. Her only solace was his expression, which remained sympathetic.

Jason remained quiet for several seconds after she finished, but methodically buttered a slice of bread and then set it on his plate without taking a bite. “I would look at Mark’s investigation in a few different ways, Libby. First of all, after your truck was found, it would have been reasonable, given the circumstances, for him to drop the whole thing. The fact that he continued investigating and found out about the Anti-Harassment Order is promising. It means he took you seriously that night. And yesterday, based on what I saw, he seemed to be coming around to your point of view. Not so much the day before…but in light of the story you just told me, my showing up at the door probably didn’t help your case.”

She smiled wryly. “That’s an understatement.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Jason continued. “He does have to investigate all possibilities—including you.”

“He said as much to me.”

“As far as any implied threat goes, outside of protective custody, there’s not much the police can do, except add you to the patrol route. Tell you what, if the focus of the investigation remains on you, I want to know. I have influence with the review board.”

“I don’t want you to intercede on my behalf. I just want to salvage my credibility.”

“Don’t stress about that. Some cops would investigate Mother Theresa.”

She laughed. “I’m in good company, then.”

The waiter arrived and took their orders. After he left, Jason said, “So, have you found anything interesting in my mother’s research?”

“I found some of your old report cards and school papers. You really should have studied your spelling lists.”

“Hard to believe I became a lawyer.” He smiled. “But I was only nine when I packed those boxes. You can’t judge me by the contents too much. I found my focus in school later.”

His words brought her up short. “
You
packed the boxes?”

“It was a few months after my mother disappeared. I had waited in the front window every day—before school, after school, weekends—certain she’d come back. When she didn’t, I got mad and gathered up all her things and dumped them in those boxes.”

“I’m so sorry, Jason.”

“Someone had to do it and Jack was…busy.”

Her own father was no model parent, repeatedly abandoning her brother and sister and her to their increasingly bitter mother. She understood all too well what it was like for a child to be left with one negligent parent.

“When my mom’s car was found, all fingerprints, even her own, had been wiped clean. The police found it suspicious, but that information wasn’t shared with me until I was old enough to ask the right questions. Even now I find myself believing she’ll come back. It’s difficult not knowing what happened.” He sipped his wine and was quiet for a few seconds and then his look changed and he said, “So, now you’ll be finishing her work.”

“I can’t do that. Your mother was an ethnographer, I’m an archaeologist.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Your mother studied living culture. I dig up the remains of past cultures. We’re both anthropologists, but we collect information in different ways. There’s some overlap in our areas of expertise, but another ethnographer would be more suited to write the report Rosalie wants.”

Jason looked at her speculatively. “Interesting.” He paused. “I have a confession to make. I didn’t really ask you to lunch to talk about my mother.” He reached out and covered her hand with his, his fingers trapping hers in the intimate hold.

Crap.
Her entire body stiffened. She fought the instinct to snatch her hand away.

“I invited you here so we could talk about the report.”

His words, so incongruous to his actions and so unexpected, made her blank on a response.

“I’m very concerned about the historic background you’re writing. Frankly, I don’t want you to write it at all, but if you do, then you must only include sustainable facts.” His grip on her hand tightened, but his expression remained friendly.

“What do you mean you don’t want me to write it? You’ve been helping me.”

“I read the new research questions you submitted to Jack on Friday. I want you to drop most, if not all of them, but without killing Jack’s permit application.”

“I can’t. I consulted both Rosalie and Jack on the research questions. The Corps approved them and have made them part of the scope of work.”

“Then I need you to stall producing the report for as long as possible.”

“My deadline is firm. Believe me, I want more time.”

“Damn. I’d hoped this wouldn’t be necessary, but it looks like I don’t have a choice. I’m giving you fair warning, Libby, you need to be very careful of what you put in writing.” He looked at her steadily, leaving her no doubt he was serious. “Destroying the reputation of my great-grandfather will get you sued for libel.”

She pulled her hand away. He’d said it was a warning, but it felt more like a threat. Hysterical laugher threatened. And Simone thought Jason was attracted to her. “Lyle Montgomery’s reputation is already pond scum.”

“But my grandfather’s bigotry and misconduct have never been documented in a public report. TL&L has an important business deal in the works. Whatever you put in print, you’d better be able to back up. No conjecture. No suppositions.”

She knew from his firm voice and clear gaze that the full power of his Seattle law firm stood behind his words. “I understand.” Libby sipped her wine without tasting it. She’d been given a very fine line in which to draft her report. If she pleased Rosalie, she ran the risk of a lawsuit, because most of Lyle’s worst deeds were based on hearsay. The beating death of the union man in 1939 was out, as were several other crimes attributed to him. “Your restrictions could limit the report to the extent that the Corps won’t issue the permit. Is that what you want?”

“Absolutely not. Listen, Libby, I’m in the same bind you are.” His voice and eyes softened. “I want the Center built. But your report can’t compromise my family and the business. I convinced my great-aunt and uncles to let you interview them. I’ve given you the boxes that contain my mother’s research. Now I expect you to help me.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

A
TAP ON
M
ARK’S OFFICE DOOR
interrupted his concentration. Officer Luke Roth entered the room and sat. “Thanks for taking the suspicious circumstances call for me Friday night, Chief. Isn’t Libby Maitland the same nutjob who reported her car stolen Thursday?”

“She reported her car stolen.”

“So, what did she want on Friday? Did she think the people on TV were watching her?”

“She’s not one of those. I’ve made some calls to Seattle, and I don’t think she’s a crank.” Mark sat up and riffled through his papers to find the list he’d made earlier. He found it and said, “I want you to check alibis on a few people.” He handed Luke the paper. “If someone’s messing with her, they might be doing it because of the Cultural Center. They could have targeted Libby as a way to stop the project.”

Luke scanned the list of names. He looked up. “What’s Jason Caruthers doing on this list?”

“A hunch,” Mark said.

“Everyone in Coho likes him. They think he’s some sort of golden boy, but if you ask me, he’s just a throwback to the old man. Jason’s the new Lyle in town.”

“Why do you think that?”

Luke shrugged. “Lyle bullied people. Jason out-smarts them. Different methods, same result. Jason closed the mill and fired more people than Lyle ever did, yet he convinced everyone that shutting down was in their best interests. Half the old mill employees thank him for ‘looking out for them.’ What a load of bull. Jason Caruthers only knows how to look out for himself.”

“Don’t bring anything personal into this investigation, Luke. It’s just a simple inquiry as to where people were at the times in question.” He’d cautioned himself in the same way when he added Jason’s name to the list.

Luckily, his phone rang and he waved Luke out of the room and took the call.

“I owe you a beer. Make that a case of beer,” Bobby said. “I’m sitting in the bar last night, bored as hell and waiting to see if Brady will show up, when this tiny little blonde with the most amazing rack walks in. Next thing I know, she’s arguing with our boy, giving me the perfect excuse to talk to her.”

“Please tell me you questioned her before you hit on her.”

“Hey, man, I’m a professional.”

Mark laughed. “Yeah. Right. What’d you find out?”

“She’s friends with Maitland. She was checking up on Brady, because for some reason she didn’t think you would. I got an earful on the evils of Officer Brady, but more important, the woman seemed credible.”

“Which part of your anatomy finds her credible?”

“My gut says she’s telling the truth.”

“You sure? Because your dick doesn’t have the best track record.”

“And yours is so much smarter.”

“I just don’t let mine make decisions for me.”

“Yeah, right. Listen, after I walked Simone to her car, I went back in and observed Brady. My take—he’s an asshole who uses his badge to wield power over anyone he perceives as weaker. Probably stunned the hell out of him when Maitland reported him. Didn’t you say he had her trapped financially?”

“His brother was her client.”

“Sounds like his style. I don’t know if Brady is stalking Maitland again or not but it wouldn’t be out of character from what I saw.”

They talked for a minute more and then Mark ended the conversation. He sat in his quiet office, thinking about Libby Maitland. She wasn’t paranoid, a groupie, or a flake. It sounded as if she’d had real reason to fear Aaron Brady in the past. Her belief someone put a nail in her tire and hid in the blackberries to scare her seemed plausible now.