Island of Deceit (22 page)

“How you doing, Barbara?” he asked. “Got those shares invested?”

“Sure do. My friend was here for Thanksgiving week, but she took care of it before she arrived.”

Elliot nodded. “As soon as you cash them in, we're moving on, I think.”

“So soon?” Barbara asked with a surprised expression. “I thought you liked it here.”

“It's a nice place, but expensive. Dollar doesn't stretch as far as it used to.”

“Isn't that the truth? Where are you moving to?”

“We were thinking Arizona. Minerva's arthritis, you know. But we haven't made a final decision yet,” he said cautiously. “Been looking through magazines about the most favorable retirement places in the country.”

Barbara nodded. “It's cheaper in some southern areas. But they're getting well-populated, too. So it's hard to find reasonably priced locations.”

“That's the truth.”

“Well, give my regards to Minerva,” Barbara said.

“I'll do that.”

Barbara was just about to continue into the store when she heard a very loud pop and felt tremendous heat and pain knock into her. She dropped her purse and placed her hand on the pain, looking down at the area. Blood oozed through her fingers. Puzzled, she touched her shoulder. Blood flowed over her hand. She heard people screaming and felt herself falling.

Elliot saw a kid do a nosedive in the body of a pickup truck just before he hunkered down between two cars and glanced around nervously. This wasn't the first time he'd heard gunfire. The asshole peppered the area, bullets hitting the side of the car. Was the asshole aiming at him? Or was it Barbara?

“Stay low,” Elliot said to Barbara, expecting her to be hovering beside him.

People in the parking lot were screaming and shouting, some crying. Maybe somebody was hit.

“Maybe we oughta ease round back. Stay low to the ground,” he said. But when Barbara didn't respond, he said, “You okay, Bar—”

And then he saw her. Five feet away, she was laid out on the pavement in the wide open. “Barbara?” Elliot shouted, panicked. He crawled on his stomach to reach her, a knot forming in his stomach. If she died, they'd be broke.

When Elliot reached her, he saw so much blood pouring out and covering her shirt. Oh, my God. Was she even breathing? He saw the shallow fall and rise of her chest, but he had to get her out of the line of fire. If he moved, though, the crazy SOB could shoot him. But he had no other option. He had to take the chance. She had his money. All of his money. She couldn't die on him now.

Easing up on his knees, Elliot gathered Barbara beneath her arms and pulled, but she didn't move. Grunting with the strain, he gathered a breath and pulled again, and this time he managed to slide her back a foot, then lay her flat to take a breath, before he continued. By the time he had her safely by the truck with him, he was tuckered out. He was an old man, for chrissakes, too old for this.

Since no more shots fired, the shooter must have taken off.

And then he heard the blessed sound of sirens. Thank the Lord.

“Hold on, Barbara. Help's on the way,” Elliot said, taking his coat off to stem the flow of the blood. It was still gushing out like a fountain.

“Don't you die on me now.”

Slowly, people started coming out of their rabbit holes.

“Anybody hurt?” he heard somebody call out. “The police're on their way.”

“Over here. Barbara's been hit,” Elliot returned.

 

Harper was getting ready to leave work a little early when Alyssa said there had been a shooting at the grocer and Doc had already been contacted. She was on her way there.

He ran out behind her. He tried to reach Barbara on his cell to tell her he'd be late as he tore out the parking lot. He was only a couple minutes away. A crowd had already gathered.

John was moving the crowd back and Alyssa was stooping over someone lying on the ground.

“Hang in there, honey,” he heard her say as she pulled out her phone to make a call.

“Harper?”

Harper got his first glimpse of Barbara. Barbara? His heart jolted as he went down beside her. My God, she was covered with blood. Was she alive?

Doc got there, pushing him aside.

It seemed hours before the chopper arrived, but it was only fifteen minutes.

“Who was with her when it happened?” he bellowed.

“She was talking to Elliot Stone,” someone said.

Elliot stepped back. “I didn't do it. We were just talking,” he said.

Alyssa went to Stone. “I've got everything covered here, Harper. You take care of Barbara.”

Harper was torn between staying and beating the truth out of Elliot or going to the hospital with Barbara. He was losing it and he knew it. He had to focus, to think.

“I'm going to the hospital. I want you to lock up every damn Stone on this island. You got that?” Harper ordered.

“I got it,” Alyssa said.

“And do a gun residue test on him.”

“I am. Now go. Barbara needs you.”

 

As they airlifted Barbara away, Harper was on the chopper with her.

Just before the shooting, Detective Mosley had finally called him back to tell him that Barbara had accused the Stones of pushing her grandmother down the stairs. That Dorsey had been spying on them.

So she was here attempting to retrieve her grandmother's money and to exact revenge. Had she shot Andrew? She had been with Harper that night, but there was that small window of time when he couldn't contact her.

But she didn't trash the Stones' home. She was in bed with him when it had happened. What role did Elliot play in this shooting? They'd said he was talking to her when it happened. Was the shot meant for him and not Barbara?

Harper scraped a frustrated hand over his head.

Barbara had become his world. He pounded the carpet in the waiting room.

Within the hour, Claxtons who lived or worked on the mainland began to pour in. Within two hours, Naomi and Alyssa's mother arrived with Vanetta and Lisa.

“Hoyt and the boys are checking all the cars getting on the ferry,” Naomi said. “Nobody's going to get off the island without them knowing.”

Harper nodded. As soon as Barbara was out of danger, he was going to drag the truth out of the Stones, by any means necessary.

 

Elliot was pacing the floor when Minerva arrived at the station.

“Heard there was a shooting,” she said. “What are you doing here?

“Barbara was shot,” he said.

“But…how is she?”

“Don't know. I was talking to her when it happened. At the grocery store.” He swiped a hand over his head. “They grilled me for hours, Minerva. For hours. Even checked to see if I had gun residue on my hand. They still won't let me go.”

“She's got all our money,” she whispered.

Elliot's legs gave out on him and he flopped down on the chair. “Every last penny.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Minerva, I just don't know. I've got to think about this.” His world was caving in on him.

“Look where your thinking has gotten us so far. We've lost everything, everything we've made. We can't make that money back.”

“Just hold on. You're acting like she's not going to make it. It's not over yet,” Elliot said. “You know she's going to have the best doctors working on her. Lord knows they're used to dealing with gunshot wounds in the hospital they took her to.”

“Elliot, you're full of shit,” Minerva said, and got up to go home.

Disbelieving what he'd just heard, Elliot gazed at her backside as she left. If she kept that up, he'd teach her a lesson she'd never forget, brothers or no brothers.

Everything around him had gone crazy. Now Andrew appeared.

“Daddy?”

“What are you doing here?”

“John came and picked me up. Said he wanted to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“How should I know?”

Elliot swiped a hand over his face. What in God's name did they want with Andrew?

Elliot leaned close. “You keep your mouth shut, you here? You don't know nothing. You didn't do nothing!”

Harper paced back and forth in the waiting room waiting to hear from the doctor, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Did you interview Trent?” he asked Alyssa. “Don't give those Stones any slack. It's got to have something to do with them. Stay on them, Alyssa.”

“I've got it under control, Harper. Trent was on the ferry when the shooting occurred. Did you call Liane?”

Harper pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not yet. I don't have a number. Didn't think to check Barbara's cell phone.”

“I have her purse. I'll call. Just take care of Barbara. I've got things covered here.”

“The couple at the artist colony. Pick them up and interrogate them, too. Find out where they were at the time of the shooting.”

“I will.”

Harper flipped the phone closed. Take care of Barbara. He hadn't done such a good job of that so far.

He barely noticed others sitting in the room waiting for loved ones or waiting to get service themselves.

 

Trent dumped his duffle on the bed. He'd wait until tomorrow to call Barbara. Maybe tonight would be a good time. A helicopter was taking off just as he arrived, and Harper was probably busy. She'd have time to talk. He wondered about all the activity at the dock, but he didn't stick around to ask questions.

Hearing a knock at the door, Trent wondered who it could be. He didn't get visits—except for the sheriff. His heart leaped. He just got back on the island, for chrissakes. He debated pretending he was away, but his car was parked in the yard. He had no option but to answer. He peeped through the curtains. It wasn't Alyssa or the sheriff, but the woman he met at the bar a few times. She was dressed in all black, just as she'd been that night he'd torn up the Stones' house.

He jerked the door open. “What are you doing here?”

“Can't get off the damn island. What happened? They're checking everybody who gets on the ferry.”

“I just got here. How the hell would I know?”

Without waiting for an invite, Sonya passed by him to slump on the couch. “This place is always in an uproar.”

“I don't have time for company,” Trent said, scrubbing his hands across his whiskers. He needed a shave.

“Can I crash here for a couple days?”

“Hell no. I don't know you that well. If they're questioning everyone on this island, I don't want to get mixed up with it.”

“And I just don't want to get mixed up in some mess that's none of my business.”

“Look, I don't need any trouble.”

Sonya crossed her legs. She patted the couch. “I'm no trouble. I'll sleep right here.”

Trent was momentarily distracted by Sonya's delectable body. She had the potential to be a good distraction, but he shook his head. Never mix sex with business, and he had business to take care of, the business of talking to Barbara, and he certainly wasn't going to leave this woman in his house. He didn't know a thing about her. You didn't get to know a person by sharing a few drinks.

“Sorry. You've got to go.”

She looked startled. “You're kidding, right? I could have popped your behind when I caught you spying on the Stones.”

“You could have done a lot of things.” Trent backed to the door and opened it.

“I can't fucking believe this. There's no place to go on this stupid place. I don't know why we came here in the first place.”

“Not my problem.” Who was this
we
she was alluding to? Trent wondered but wouldn't ask. He knew there was more to her than met the eye. Didn't trust her from the beginning. He nodded toward the door.

In a temper, she hopped off the sofa and stomped out.

Trent shut the door after her, then tried to reach Barbara. But she didn't answer and he didn't leave a message.

 

It was nine-thirty that night when the surgeon met with Harper and Naomi, Naomi being the next of kin.

“The bullet was lodged close to her heart. The next few hours will be critical,” he said, then answered questions Harper peppered at him.

Harper retrieved the bullet as evidence before he went to recovery to see Barbara. Seeing her all doped up, with tubes and machines attached, broke his heart and made him mad as hell.

He took a deep breath. At least she was alive. That was something to be grateful for. Harper stayed most of the night and he didn't leave until she had regained consciousness.

Naomi had left for a while to stay with one of her sons who lived in Portsmouth, but she returned early that morning.

“I'll stay with her,” she said. “You go take care of what you need to. She won't be alone. I'll call you with her progress.”

Barbara was still in ICU when he left in the wee hours of the morning.

The last ferry had already run and he got a taxi to the medical examiner's office to drop off the bullet for them to produce an analysis for him, then got a water taxi to ferry him back to the island.

The night deputy picked him up and dropped him off at the office where he got his car. Harper looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He looked bad enough to scare himself. He scrubbed a hand across his chin and headed to Trent's place. He needed a shave badly. It's a wonder Barbara recognized him.

He pounded on the door. When Trent answered it, he could smell sausage cooking.

Harper moved inside. “Why are you here?”

Trent stepped back. “What's going on?”

“Don't bullshit me. Why are you here? Barbara was shot late yesterday afternoon.”

“Barbara? The helicopter was lifting
Barbara
to the hospital?”

The guy seemed genuinely shocked, but he could be a good actor, too.

“I'm not going to repeat myself.”

Trent sighed. “I came here to get my money from the Stones,” he said. “They stole most of my mother's retirement.”

“And Barbara?”

“I thought she was working with them at first because I knew Andrew had a girlfriend. But I found out it wasn't her.”

“Did you shoot Andrew?”

“No, but there's a woman who's been watching their house.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I've been watching it, too. We ran into each other one night. Yesterday after I returned from D.C., she came by here telling me she couldn't get off the island and asked if I'd put her up.”

“Why would she come to you?”

“I've had drinks with her a couple of times at the bar, but that's all.”

“And you don't think she lives here.”

“No.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

Trent shook his head.

“What's her name?”

“I only know her first name and that's Sonya. At least that's what she told me.”

The elusive Sonja again. “Did she have a weapon on her?”

“I don't know.”

“You tried to reach Barbara several times last night. Why?” Alyssa had toggled through the numbers on Barbara's phone.

“I was going to ask her if she knew a way for me to get my mother's money back. At the first break-in, some of the Stones' money was stolen.”

“How do you know?”

“Andrew told me.”

Harper was skeptical. “He just told you?”

“I gave him some inducement.”

Harper didn't even want to think about what the inducement might be.

“You mind if I visit Barbara in the hospital?” Trent asked.

Harper shook his head. “You might want to wait a day or so. She's still in ICU and pretty much out of it right now.”

From there Harper headed to the office.

“Jesus, Harper. Some men don't do well without a shave,” Alyssa said. “You're one of them. I've got a razor in my desk.”

Harper ignored her. “What do you have on the Stones?”

“Minerva was at Hughes's place. Grandma saw Andrew at the house just before the shooting. And Elliot was with Barbara. Witnesses were pretty confused about where the bullet came from, but a couple people thought they heard the shot coming from the woods.”

“Find anything there?”

“Footprints. We made casts.”

“The Stones are a family of con artists—actually, confidence people. They may have killed Sarah so that Minerva could get her job with Hughes.”

“I found an abandoned boat tied up not far from where the body was found. It was reported stolen a month ago in Norfolk.”

“Where is it now?”

“Impounded.”

“Let's see if we can lift some prints,” he said. “I talked to Trent. He said a woman approached him seeking shelter last night soon after the shooting. He'd caught her casing the Stones' residence.”

“Did he get a name?”

“Sonya. She might be the woman from the artist colony.”

“I found some footprints in the area where the shooter was standing. Size eleven foot,” Alyssa said. “I think it was a man's. Somebody in that area saw a boat taking off shortly afterward.”

“Let's get some fingerprints. See if we come up with anything. Where are the Stones?”

“In a holding cell.”

“Did you pick up the couple from the artist colony?”

Alyssa shook her head. “They've disappeared. We've searched the island for them.”

“Get Andrew to the interview room.”

“You're not starting with Elliot? He runs the show.”

“Andrew. He's the weakest link.” Harper could get info he could use against the others.

“Okay…”

Harper made a few calls, including to the hospital to find out Barbara's progress, before he went down the hall to the interview room.

Andrew was standing by the interview table.

Alyssa glanced at him. “Harp, I'm thinking I should do this interview. I don't think you can be objective.”

“You can come in if you like. But I'm leading this interview,” he said with finality and shoved the door open. Harper rounded the table and stood with his hands on his hips looking as mean as he felt. Alyssa leaned on the door, blocking the exit.

Andrew shot a look at Alyssa, then at Harper.

“Have a seat, Andrew,” Alyssa offered.

The younger man glanced at Harper and eased into the chair in slow motion.

Harper hit the desk with his fist.

Andrew fainted.

Alyssa rushed over to Andrew and shook him. “Jesus Christ, Harper. What're you trying to do? Give him a heart attack before you get your answers? Honestly. You're going to get nowhere this way.” She opened the door and called out.

“Somebody get some smelling salts, will you?”

“Smelling salts? I don't think we have any,” the secretary called.

“Cleaning ammonia. Anything that'll wake him.”

Alyssa glared at Harper. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You look like the leader of some biker group. You need a shave. You look like hell. No sense in me bringing him to if you're going to tower over him. He'll faint again.”

Harper rounded the desk again and took a look at Andrew. “He seems to be coming around. I'll send John in to help you.” He left the interview room and had John bring Minerva to the conference room before he joined Alyssa.

“Sheriff, I'm really upset that I've been kept overnight like I'm some criminal,” Minerva began. “I was with Lambert when the shooting took place, nowhere near Barbara. She's a nice young lady and I hope she pulls through just fine.”

“May I get you a cup of coffee?” Harper asked.

She looked surprised. “A cup of tea would be nice. And a muffin to go with it.”

Harper barely contained his incredulity. Where did she think she was? “Ellen, could you please bring Mrs. Stone a cup of tea and the muffin out of my office, please?”

“Okay, Harp,” she said.

Satisfied, Minerva leaned back in her chair. “You need to get a nap. It won't do Barbara a bit of good if you wear yourself out.”

“Have you been read your Miranda rights?” he asked.

She nodded. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not at this time, but I want to make sure your rights had been read and that you know you have the right to an attorney.”

He made small talk with her until Ellen rushed in with tea in a white Styrofoam cup and the muffin still in the wrapper. She handed them both to Minerva with a stirrer and a couple of packets of sweetener, then hurried out.

Minerva added both packets to her tea before she sipped it, then sighed. “This is the first decent thing I've had since I got here.”

“I'm glad you're pleased. Tell me about the money that was stolen from your house during the robbery.”

The cup slipped, sloshing tea on Minerva's dress.

“Careful,” Harper warned. “The money?”

“No…nothing was stolen. They just trashed the house.”

“I'm talking about the first break-in. That's when the money was stolen.”

“How did…” She pressed her mouth together. “You're mistaken. How did you come up with that conclusion? We don't have money. If we did, I wouldn't be working at Lambert's as his companion.”

“Oh, but your goal is to become much more than a companion, isn't it? Lambert Hughes is a wealthy man by most standards.”

“No more than we will be.”

Harper arched his eyebrows. “Elaborate.”

“Andrew will come into money in a few years, so you see, we don't need to steal from anyone.”

“How may years?”

“In five, when he's forty.”

Now Harper understood why they kept Andrew around and why he never had to work. They'd browbeat the poor guy so much that he couldn't make one decent decision on his own. So when the money came to him, they'd take over without him questioning them. What a sorry bunch. For the first time, he began to feel sorry for Andrew. With parents like those, no wonder he regularly drank himself under the table, and they probably encouraged it.

“So you can just let us go, Sheriff. All of us. My…”