Moving Target (12 page)

Nancy turned off the light and joined her at the window. “It must be Erik,” she said. “He stayed down at the beach after the others left to help Mr. Kipling clean up. They were coming back when I went to get the ice.”

A door slammed, and then a light went on inside Erik's cabin, showing him clearly.

George sighed. “I guess that lets him out as an eavesdropping suspect,” she said. “Even the great Erik can't be in two places at once.”

Nancy nodded. “Right. And after our talk today, I don't think it was Kendra. She was very frank with me. She wouldn't have any reason to eavesdrop on a phone call. By the way, since you're the designated peeping Tom, has she come back to her cabin yet?”

“Home and probably all tucked in by now,” George reported. “Michael walked her to the door while you were getting ice, and then took off.”

Nancy nodded. “I noticed that his van was gone,” she said.

George gingerly stretched her leg out and shifted the ice pack. “This is feeling a little better,” she said. “I'm going to try to put my weight on it.” She stood up and took a few cautious steps. “Not bad. Not great, but not bad.” She turned to face Nancy, who was still
standing at the window, looking out. “Nan, if you've ruled out Kendra and Erik, that leaves us with Michael and Jennifer.”

Nancy nodded, without turning her head. “Take a look at this,” she said, motioning to George.

George moved cautiously to the window and followed Nancy's gaze. In the moonlight a solitary figure was moving stealthily away from the cabins toward the wooded area.

“It's Jennifer,” Nancy whispered. “I'm going to follow her. Keep the light off.”

“Keep the light off?” George repeated, dramatically looking around. “Who are you talking to? I'm going with you!”

“Not with that knee,” Nancy said.

“But we're not running this time,” said George. “We're sneaking. And my knee is always up to sneaking.”

“Sorry,” Nancy said firmly. “I'm going solo. I won't be long. Stand guard.” She opened the cabin door and exited before George could answer.

The light in Erik's cabin went off as Nancy passed by. The rest of the units were already dark. Nancy stayed a safe distance from Jennifer, taking care not to make any noise in the loose underbrush as she entered the woods. The moon, covered intermittently by slow-moving clouds, provided enough light for her to watch, as Jennifer stopped in a small clearing, crouched down,
and began to dig. She had the small shovel from the barbecue pit, and it was clear to Nancy that she was burying something. But what?

She watched in silence as the blond girl took something from her fanny pack, placed it in the hole she had dug, covered it with dirt, and carefully brushed pine needles over it. Then she reached for a rock and planted it to one side of the burial site. After looking furtively around, she straightened up and hurried back to the path that led to the cabins.

Nancy waited until she heard the door to Jennifer's cabin close before she moved into the woods. Unsure whether someone else might be lurking nearby, Nancy looked around warily, her ears straining for any foreign sounds in the hush of the night. Finally satisfied that she was alone, she took the rock that had been left as a marker and used it to scoop out the soft dirt, uncovering a small felt bag with a drawstring closure.

Nancy pulled the drawstring open and dumped the contents of the pouch into her palm. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared in disbelief.

“The emeralds,” Nancy whispered, staring at the glittering jewelry. “The stolen emeralds.”

N
ANCY STOOD UP SLOWLY
, the jewelry still clutched in her hand. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

She was beginning to understand the reasons behind the accidents of the past forty-eight hours, but she was disappointed. She had hoped that Jennifer was not involved. That possibility was now out of the question. She slipped the jewels back into the pouch, pushed the pouch into her jacket pocket, and slowly walked back to the cabin.

“Well?” said George expectantly, turning on the lamp as Nancy softly closed the door behind her and locked it.

“Well,” said Nancy, reaching into her pocket, “she was burying this.” She opened the pouch and took out the emerald jewelry.

George gasped. “Can I see them?” she whispered, reaching out and picking up the necklace from Nancy's hand. “This is gorgeous.” She held it up. Even in the dim lamplight, the expensive stones glittered with rays of green. The center square-cut gem was flanked by four other square-cut emeralds, smaller in size but equal in brilliance, set in gold filigree. The matching bracelet had six graduated emeralds and fastened with a gold clasp. Each of the delicate drop earrings consisted of three tiny gems, strung on gold chains. “They must be worth a fortune,” George said.

“Fifty thousand,” Nancy replied. “And Lieutenant Easterling said they're heirlooms.”

She slipped the earrings and bracelet into the soft cloth bag and held it open for George, who carefully slid in the necklace. Nancy pulled the drawstring taut, tucked the pouch into her jacket pocket, then peered out the window into the night. “I have a feeling that we may not have been the only ones who had an eye on Jennifer.”

“Possible,” George replied. She leaned over and turned off the light. “Now we know why Jennifer wore that fanny pack all the time. She was carrying the emeralds in it.”

Nancy nodded. “Yes, and the emeralds may have been the reason she was looking for a post office, too. But where would she mail them? She knows that Palumbo's in jail.”

“Maybe she was going to mail them to herself,” George suggested.

“Good thought,” Nancy acknowledged.

“And since she couldn't get to a post office,” George continued, “she thought she'd catch a bus and run away with them.”

“That doesn't hold up,” Nancy said. “She could have left Emerson with them as early as Wednesday. They came from a burglary Monday night.”

George nodded. “I guess you're right,” she said. “I know this sounds crazy, but do you actually think that Jennifer is the fence for Palumbo? I mean, we know that she knows him, but how would she know where to peddle stolen jewelry? Or anything else, for that matter. She's a college student majoring in early childhood education. Not exactly top qualifications for a jewelry fence.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Nancy smiled. “I just don't have the answer to that,” she said. “Yet.”

“So what do we do now?”

“I'm going to call Sergeant Telfer again. The police need to know that we've recovered the emeralds. And the report from Florida might shed some light on this, if it's in. You're going to stay here with the door locked and the lights out and watch for any activity around the cabins.”

“And guard the emeralds,” George added.

“No,” said Nancy. “The emeralds are going with me.”

“That's not fair,” George protested. “You're setting yourself up as a target. If you won't leave them here, at least let me go along to protect you.”

“George,” Nancy said gently. “You're the one who needs protection. You see, if someone is after these emeralds, whoever it is is looking for a young woman who's tall and has dark hair. Jennifer used to look like that before she had her hair bleached. You fit the description. But I don't. The emeralds go with me.”

“I never thought of that,” George mumbled. She sat down on the side of the bed. “Nan, be careful out there.”

Nancy nodded. “I will. I promise. If you see Jennifer leaving her cabin, whistle at me. If you see
anything
, whistle at me!”

“Okay.”

“When I come back, I'll knock twice, and then twice again. That way you'll know it's me.”

Nancy pulled the door firmly shut behind her and listened for the lock to catch before she started down the path to the phone booth. Off in the woods to her left she could hear the plaintive hoot of an owl, the only sound to break the silence of the night. With one hand in her jacket pocket, she fingered the soft fabric pouch that protected the emeralds, and tried to visualize the
women who'd worn them and the occasions on which they'd been worn.

She glanced back up at their dark cabin, where she knew George was watching at the window, and a vague feeling of uneasiness came over her. She'd be glad when the bike trip was over and they were safely home. Nancy sighed. One thing was certain. George was in grave danger.

She gave one final look around and stepped into the phone booth. Headquarters answered on the second ring, and within moments Nancy was connected with Sergeant Telfer.

“I thought you were never going to get back to me,” the officer said as soon as Nancy identified herself. Without waiting for Nancy to reply, she continued. “I called the lieutenant about the Florida report as soon as I read it.” Sergeant Telfer's voice was tense with excitement. “Ms. Drew, you are in imminent danger. The lieutenant says you are to take every precaution if the man you know as Michael Kirby joins your group again. He also goes by the name Kirby Stanton, and he's wanted by the police in four states, including this one and Florida.”

“Kirby Stanton,” Nancy repeated. “K.S. Those were the initials on the briefcase in his van.”

“He has a long record of vehicular theft, assault, and armed robbery, and must be”—she repeated the words—“
must be
considered armed and dangerous. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Nancy replied. “I understand. He left the campground an hour ago. But I'll be careful. Does he have any connection with Stephen Palumbo?”

“Yes, he and Palumbo served time together in Florida, and we think they were partners in three jewelry store robberies in Texas. Texas authorities think Stanton was the fence, but they couldn't prove it.”

“The fence!” Nancy said. “So it's probable that he's the fence for Palumbo in the Emersonville burglaries, too.” She paused and then spoke, almost to herself. “So where does Jennifer fit in?”

“I don't know,” Sergeant Telfer said. “We believe Kirby Stanton's the fence, but Palumbo hasn't admitted it.”

“Sergeant, I have the emeralds from one of the Emersonville burglaries.” Nancy could hear the woman gasp on the other end of the line. “It's a long and complicated story,” Nancy continued, “but I think that's what Michael Kirby, or Kirby Stanton, is looking for. They were in the possession of Jennifer Bover, one of the cyclists. Were the campus police able to give you anything more on her?”

“Nothing. A clean sheet. But having the emeralds would certainly implicate her.” The sergeant's no-nonsense voice became even more stern. “I have your itinerary in front of me, but I want you to tell me exactly where you are, so we
can get a car over there to give you some protection.”

“Right,” said Nancy. “I'm in cabin ten at Kipling's Lakeview Lodge, just off County Road Thirty-three.”

“Good,” said Sergeant Telfer. “Go back to your cabin and lock yourself in. Now that you have those emeralds, you are a definite target for Stanton, and possibly Bover, too. They may be working against each other, and you could get caught in the crossfire. The nearest police force is in Moorestown. We'll radio them to get over there. What is Stanton driving?”

“A blue van. I gave Lieutenant Easterling the license number and model yesterday.”

Nancy could hear papers rustling as the woman checked the file.

“Here it is. It checked out to a rental agency. I'll put out an APB. We'll get someone over there as soon as possible.” Her voice softened. “Nancy—be careful.”

“Thanks,” Nancy replied. “I will.”

She sighed and replaced the receiver. Things were starting to fall into place. Palumbo and Stanton, alias Michael Kirby, were working together, with Palumbo pulling off the burglaries and Stanton selling the goods. But where did Jennifer Bover fit in? College student. Early childhood education major. No criminal record.

Nancy shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and closed her fingers around the felt
bag that held the emeralds. It was getting colder. The wind was coming in off the lake now, and the sky was clouding over. She glanced at the cabins. They were all dark. She walked slowly up the path, the crunching sound of her sneakers on the loose gravel the only noise in the night. Her whole body was tense, alert, but there was no sign of life around the campground. She'd be glad to get inside, share the new information with George, and wait for the police from Moorestown to arrive. She hadn't realized she was so tired.

Nancy stopped outside the cabin she was sharing with George and listened. Nothing. She lifted her hand and gently knocked twice. Waited. Knocked twice again.

There was a click as George turned the lock and opened the door. Nancy stepped inside, her eyes squinting against the dark interior.