My Sunshine (18 page)

“I don't know who's crazier, me or you, but yes, Laura, I believe you. Why would you lie about something like this, and for what purpose?”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Tears spilled from
under her dark lashes, making sparkling rivulets on her pale cheeks.

“Hey!” he said.

She opened her eyes and gave him a tremulous smile. “I'm sorry. I just didn't think—” She broke off, caught her lower lip between her teeth, and shook her head again. “I didn't think you'd believe me, is all.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.” Isaiah reached out to brush the tears from her cheeks. Then he drew his feet back under him and pushed erect. “All that remains is for me to substantiate your story.”

“How can you do that?”

“By calling Harris Security.” At her questioning look, he smiled. “Nobody can enter or leave this clinic after the alarm has been set without leaving an electronic trail. The console sends a signal to Harris Security via a secure phone line every time the security code is used to activate or deactivate the system.”

“It does?” Her eyes went even wider. “So it'll show that someone else was in here on Monday night?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

In that moment Isaiah knew he'd been right to believe Laura. She didn't look frightened or uneasy, as a person might if she'd been lying and suddenly realized the game was over. She clearly believed that the security records would vindicate her.

“Want to come?” he invited. “You can listen while I make the call.”

T
ucker's Victorian farmhouse sat on forty acres at the east side of town. Some sections of the land were treed and others were in pasture, creating a perfect balance for a busy veterinarian who wanted to keep a few horses but didn't have time to operate a full-scale ranch. The yard itself was defined by a white, ivy-draped picket fence. An old, dented mailbox on a post stood next to the front gate.

When Tucker had purchased the property, he'd taken a lot of razzing from his father and brothers. They'd asked him if his feminine side was coming out, teased him about getting a white cottage with a picket fence, and wondered aloud if Tucker would start serving tea in fancy cups when they came to visit. Finally, when their mother had been out of earshot, Tucker had held up all five fingers of one hand and cheerfully informed them it was a bouquet of F-yous, one for each of them. That had pretty much put a stop to the teasing.

Secretly, Isaiah admired his twin's attitude. There was nobody tougher or more masculine than Tucker, but he wasn't hung up on cultivating that
image. He was who he was and didn't worry about what other people thought. He'd liked this house and its location. Turrets, elaborate porches, gingerbread trim, and English gardens appealed to him. Isaiah was more into gleaming wood and simple architectural lines, but to each his own. If Tucker was happy, that was all that mattered.

As Isaiah strode up the stepping-stone path to the veranda steps, he scrunched his shoulders to push the collar of his jacket higher on the nape of his neck. In November, the nighttime temperatures in Central Oregon dived to freezing, crystallizing the air with particles of ice and frosting the pine branches. A full moon bathed the landscape in silvery light, making the trees look more gray than green.

Too cold for snow,
Isaiah thought as he scaled the steps to knock on his brother's front door. Faint light shone through the windows, telling Isaiah that Tucker was home and still up.

Moments later Tucker appeared in the large entrance hall, which encompassed a central curving staircase with runners of forest green. Through the oval of etched door glass, his silhouette was distorted, creating a copper-and-blue blur where his bare upper torso met with the waistline of his jeans.

He cracked open the door. “Isaiah? What's brought you here?” He drew the portal wide, rubbing his furry chest as the chill air curled around him. “I was crashed in the recliner. It's after nine.”

“I need to talk to you.”

Isaiah had known several sets of identical twins over the years, and a fair half of them hadn't felt
that they resembled each other all that much. Such had never been the case with him and his brother. Their coloring, features, and builds were so markedly similar that sometimes they both felt as if they were looking in a mirror. This was one of those moments for Isaiah. Maybe it was the soft glow of a lamp coming from behind Tucker, casting his face partly in shadow. Whatever the reason, Isaiah got the uncanny feeling, if only for an instant, that he was having an out-of-body experience.

Tucker retreated a step to allow Isaiah entry. “Everyone missed you at the party.”

“What party?”

“Earth to Isaiah.” Tucker pushed the door shut. “Natalie's grandfather's birthday party, tonight, six sharp. Does that ring a bell? Everybody showed but you.”

“Shit.” Isaiah remembered now. He'd gotten a gift and attended Sly's party, but had forgotten to attend Natalie's grandfather's party. “I even have a present for him—a whole case of cheap burgundy to keep under his bed.”

Tucker grinned. “Drop it off and apologize. With a case of wine as a peace offering, he'll forgive you almost anything.” With a shiver, Tucker asked, “What do you need to talk to me about?”

Isaiah swept off his Stetson. “There's a situation at the clinic.”

“Shit. What's happened now?”

“Nothing more has happened, exactly. I've just become privy to some information that we need to discuss.”

“Tonight?”

“It can't wait until morning.”

Cursing under his breath, Tucker padded barefoot up the hall to the library, situated to the left of the stairs. He reached around the door frame to flip on the overhead chandelier before they entered the room. The sudden spill of light made the hardwood floor gleam like polished glass.

“I can tell by the look on your face that it's not good news,” he told Isaiah. “As far as I'm concerned, bad news at this hour calls for a drink.”

It called for immediate action, but Isaiah knew his brother well and refrained from dropping that bomb until the moment felt right. He tossed his hat on a fancy settee that was new since his last visit. “Wow. Aren't we getting classy? Actual furniture?”

“Wallpaper, too.” Tucker stepped over to an ornate liquor cabinet of hand-carved mahogany. “I liked the tea roses. What do you think?”

It looked as if a woman had taken up squatting rights, but Isaiah only nodded as he perused the little roses that trailed over a swirled hunter-green backdrop. “Pretty,” he settled for saying. Prissy stuff usually was.

Tucker drew two crystal tumblers from a shelf and sloshed a measure of Irish whiskey into each. He looked too big, dark, and rugged to be messing around with a crystal decanter. “I got tired of making do and hired an interior decorator.”

Isaiah swept a wondering glance over the mahogany office furniture that took up one corner of the room. There was even a secretary with curlicues across the top. The last time he'd been here, a cheap drafting table had filled in as a desk, and the only
furniture had been two metal chairs and an apple crate serving as an end table. He crossed to stand before the hearth and chafe his hands.

“Why do people do that?” Tucker asked.

“Do what?”

“Warm their hands at a hearth when the fire's dead out.”

Isaiah glanced down, and sure enough he was holding out his hands to nonexistent heat. He laughed and folded his arms. “Good question. Habit, I guess. It's colder'n hell outside.”

Grinning, Tucker shook his head.

Isaiah studied a nature painting in an oval frame that hung above the mantel. “This is really great, Tucker.” And Isaiah realized he actually meant it. The house had a warm, lived-in feeling now. “Maybe I should hire a decorator. I've been in my place for over six months, and I'm still sitting on beanbags in the living room to watch TV.”

“That's no way to impress the babes.” After handing Isaiah a whiskey, Tucker sank onto a sage-green wingback chair set at an angle in front of the hearth. “Females go for well-established men with refined tastes.” A devilish twinkle entered his blue eyes. “Not to mention that it's harder than hell to seduce a woman on a folding chair.”

The picture that formed in Isaiah's mind brought a smile to his mouth. “I imagine so.”

“The gal's name is Lisa Banning, if you're interested.”

“Who, the woman you seduced on a folding chair?”

“No, lamebrain, the decorator.”

Isaiah took a seat opposite his brother. As fancy as the wingback seat looked, he was pleased to find that comfort hadn't been sacrificed for appearance. The cushions were luxuriously soft, and deep enough to accommodate his large frame. “Maybe I'll give her a call.”

Tucker took a sip of whiskey. After swallowing and giving an appreciative whistle, he asked, “So what can't wait until morning?”

Isaiah leaned back, his drink balanced on one knee. “Laura didn't leave that kennel gate open last night. We were wrong to jump to conclusions.”

Tucker didn't immediately respond. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his expression thoughtful. When he finally met Isaiah's gaze again, all the laughter had left his eyes. “Do you realize how crazy that sounds, Isaiah? One person works the late shift. Last night that person was Laura. If she didn't leave the gate open, who did, a mischievous gremlin?”

Isaiah refused to get angry. “She was set up, Tucker. I think someone's trying to get her fired.”

Tucker sat forward on his chair. “Come on, Isaiah, get real. Who'd want to do that? As far as I know, everybody at the clinic likes Laura. I know for a fact that none of my techs have a beef with her. Lena sings her praises. That kennel keeper Danielle Prince, with the hair that changes colors once a month, thinks she's the greatest thing since the invention of popcorn because Laura never leaves shit details unfinished for the next shift. Tina thinks she's a saint. I repeat, who'd want to get her fired?”

“I don't have all the answers yet,” Isaiah replied. “I only know she was set up.”

Tucker arched a dark eyebrow. “We're not talking about a corporate position here. She's a kennel keeper, for God's sake. Who'd want her job?”

Taking care not to spill his drink, Isaiah shifted on the chair to fish in his coat pocket. He drew out a folded piece of paper. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He handed the paper to his brother. “But facts don't lie. Have a look.”

“And this is?” Tucker began to scan the printout. “Dates, times? I'm not following.”

“That was faxed to me a while ago by the night person at our security company. Whenever anyone turns the alarm at the clinic on or off, Harris Security receives a signal via the phone line, and it's recorded in a computer log.”

“I remember something about that.” Tucker's voice rang with weary impatience. “And this is im-portant because . . . ?”

“That's a record of all our alarm activity this week. If you'll notice, someone disarmed and rearmed the system on Monday night at eight, almost an hour before Laura got there. Also notice that, according to that record, Laura successfully disarmed and rearmed the system just before nine. Less than thirty seconds later the alarm went off. Pay attention to the cause that's listed, please. It says ‘perimeter breach.' That means the alarm was properly reset and someone opened a door or possibly a window to make it go off.”

Tucker studied the first few lines of the printout. “If she disarmed and rearmed the system correctly,
why the hell did she open an outside door and set off the alarm?”

“She didn't. The alarm went off as she was heading into the kennels.”

“So she says.”

An image of Laura's sweet face moved through Isaiah's mind. “Don't accuse her of lying, Tucker. Making a mistake I can handle, but not out-and-out lying.”

“A little sensitive, aren't you?”

“Right now I'm just royally pissed off. Look at the damned readout. It speaks for itself. Someone else was already in the building that night when Laura got there.” Moving his drink to the arm of the chair, Isaiah rested a boot on his knee. “
Think,
Tucker. At night, when you visit the clinic and plan to stay for a while, what procedure do you follow with the alarm?”

“I unlock the door,” Tucker said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Then I immediately relock it. After that's done, I hurry over to the console, enter our user code, and turn off the system. When the light turns green, I reenter our user code and rearm the system by hitting three.”

“And when you leave?”

“I go through the whole process again to exit the building.”

Isaiah inclined his head at the printout. “Exactly. Just before eight o'clock, a full hour before Laura entered the building, someone disarmed and rearmed the system. There is no record of that being done again before Laura arrived.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean that the person
remained in the building. Maybe someone forgot something, Isaiah. I've disarmed the system and raced into my office for a file or research book before I rearmed the system and left.”

“Did you make it to your office and back to the alarm console in less than ten seconds?” Isaiah countered.

Tucker considered the printout again. Then he whistled softly. “Damn, you're right. Whoever went in at eight reset the alarm three seconds later.”

A cold sensation moved over Isaiah's skin. “That's right. Nobody could run inside for something and reset the alarm in less than three seconds. The pattern you see there is congruent with the pattern that occurs when someone enters the building at night, planning to stay for a while.”

“Why would anyone hang around in the middle of the night if they weren't working a shift?”

“To trip the alarm after Laura entered the building and make her look like an incompetent imbecile.”

Tucker's eyes darkened to a turbulent gray. “Did she see anyone in the building?”

The question told Isaiah that Tucker was beginning to believe him. “No, but she did hear a crash in one of the offices while she was talking on the phone. Unfortunately, in all the confusion, she didn't think much about it and never went to investigate.”

“My paperweight,” Tucker whispered.

“Your what?”

“My paperweight,” he said more loudly. “That big ceramic bull Mom got me for Christmas last
year. On Tuesday morning I found it on the floor in a hundred pieces. I thought one of the cleaning crew had knocked it off my desk and left it there, not wanting to get in trouble.”