Obsession Falls (21 page)
Garik finished his coffee and pie.
Between all the gossip he’d collected, all the problems he had to solve, and all the caffeine he’d taken in, he would definitely be up all night.
A car with California plates sped past the café’s front door—yeah, it was definitely speeding. It whipped a fast right, drove past the windows where he sat, flipped an illegal U-turn, and ended up parallel parking across two angle-in spaces. The driver and the passenger didn’t get out. They just sat there and stared out the front window.
Rainbow flitted over. “Bet they don’t know the sheriff is watching them.”
“Probably not.” He stood up. Definitely time to go out and say a few words to the folks who had possibly had too many early afternoon vacation cocktails.
“Backpackers,” Rainbow told him. “Young couple. Experienced hikers. They left yesterday morning, drove up to the Wilderness Creek trailhead, were supposed to be gone three days. Wonder what happened?”
That changed the way he would go approach them. “Somebody got hurt?”
“Maybe. You’d think they would have gone to the hospital.”
At last the car doors opened, and a guy and a woman got out. They looked around as if bewildered, then they started toward the courthouse.
Garik caught up with them as they reached the steps.
The woman spotted him first, then grabbed the man’s arm and brought him around to face Garik. “Ethan, it’s the police,” she said. “Thank God.”
Their complexions were gray, and both seemed wobbly on their feet. Something had truly horrified these people. In his calmest tone, Garik said, “I’m Sheriff Garik Jacobsen.”
The woman seemed incapable of saying more.
The man stared at him accusingly.
Garik prompted, “Can I help you?”
“You have … do you know what you have out there in the woods? In the Olympic National Forest? Pristine wilderness … mountains … streams … snowy peaks?” The man pointed a shaking finger. “Do you know what we saw?”
“I don’t know.” Garik hoped it wasn’t a Big Foot sighting. “Why don’t you tell me, Mr…?”
“Salter. Ethan Salter.” He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “All we did was go off the trail so we could … all we did was walk off the trail for about fifteen minutes, just … we were just going to…”
“That’s fine, Mr. Salter.” Garik didn’t care if they’d gone off the trail to have sex, as long as they didn’t get lost. “Tell me what you saw.”
“A head,” the woman burst out. “A man’s head. By itself. Sitting on a rock. A hole in the back of the skull … and the face bones were shattered. This bird was sitting on the jaw and pecking at the insides of…” Covering her mouth, she looked around wildly.
“Lady’s room is down the corridor to the right,” Garik told her.
She ran.
Ethan Salter watched her helplessly. “She’s sick,” he said unnecessarily. Crossing to the stone balustrade, he leaned against it and crossed his arms over his body as if he were holding himself together. “A body, a man’s body. Rotting. Most of it was hanging way up in a pine, up on the branches, but animals and birds had eaten … parts. Bones and … bones had fallen here and there on the ground. And that head … someone shot him, didn’t they?”
“I haven’t seen the evidence, so I can’t say.” Probably. The last skull they’d found had definitely been a shot to the back of the head with a blast that destroyed the facial bones, making dental identification impossible.
“I suppose you see this stuff all the time, but we were … we wanted to … We knew we shouldn’t leave the trail, but we never imagined…”
“Come inside.” Garik took his arm. “We have a map of Olympic National Park and Forest. You can show us the approximate location and we’ll see what we can do to solve the mystery.”
As they climbed the stairs, Ethan Salter said, “Does this happen around here a lot?”
“No.” Not a lot. Only one other time. Which meant more were possibly waiting to be discovered, the National Forest Service rangers were not equipped to handle such a gruesome and possibly far-reaching investigation … and Garik had better get his information together and give his ex-boss at the FBI a call.
It would be good to know if bodies were landing in other parts of the country, or if Washington had produced another nut case for Garik to investigate.
He could hardly wait.
Moving like a bat out of hell, Taylor Summers, alias Summer Leigh, drove the winding road to the Thackers’ vacation home.
She loved her GTO, the one that would be forever known as the Judge. She loved the Ram Air III engine, the Rally II wheels without trim rings, the Hurst shifter with the T-shaped handle, the wide tires, the decals, and most of all, she loved the rear spoiler, which kept the vehicle from leaving the ground at high speeds. She’d driven the Judge at some killer speeds, put it through the gears, performed some amazing maneuvers, and never once had the rear wheels lifted off the road. So she guessed the spoiler worked.
Even more, she loved how enviously every male citizen of Virtue Falls watched when she got in and turned the key. Even the sheriff had desperately wanted her car; that dear old man Mr. Szymanski had told her so. But, as Mr. Szymanski had said with a chuckle, having Garik Jacobsen beg wasn’t nearly as much fun as having Summer flirt, so
she
got the Judge, and for a good price, too.
She pressed on the accelerator, ran through the gears, then whipped through the hairpin turns up to the Thackers’ mountain home. When she parked in their circle drive, she checked her watch: twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds. That was a full thirty seconds off her original time and about seven minutes less than it took most people. One thing about living in Virtue Falls—there wasn’t enough law enforcement to cover the miles of highway, country roads, and gravel tracks, and so far, she’d managed to avoid trouble—or at least the police-giving-her-a-ticket kind of trouble.
Now she eyed the two-story New England–style mansion. Outsized windows on every level faced the panorama of mountains and lakes. A long deck crowned the length of the front porch.
She hadn’t won the contract to care for the Thackers’ house. Pissed her off that Mr. Thacker had taken the word of the Seattle electronic-security guy rather than hire a Virtue Falls resident to make sure his home stayed safe. She was pretty sure he’d made his decision based on gender, and that pissed her off even more. Mr. Thacker had made a mistake when he hired City Security, and another when she asked him whether he would be willing to give her the contract if she proved to him City Security wasn’t so secure. “Sure,” he’d said. He had been deliberately off-handed and confident in his decision.
Which was why she was going to break in. She was taking a chance here. But what else was new? And why not? The only way she was going to succeed as a vacation home concierge was if she was bold, weighed her options, and fought for the business.
Besides, Mrs. Thacker had privately told Summer that she despised Clarence Kibble, the arrogant jerk who ran City Security, and she would support her in her efforts to win their account. Since Summer had judged Mrs. Thacker to be the true power in the family, she was willing to give this a try.
Summer loaded her cross-body bag with her kit of lock picks and her iPad, unfolded her aluminum ladder and placed it against the second-story deck, and climbed up. There she evaluated the security at the master bedroom French doors and windows. All were wired with a motion sensor.
Yeah. Getting in there would have been too easy.
Next she shinnied up the downspout, onto the shingled roof, and all the way to the top, where a decorative widow’s walk crowned the house. She was betting it wasn’t merely decorative. When Mr. Thacker had handed his home over to City Security, he had told her he’d done it because he was a practical man, and the people from Seattle had years of experience, which she did not. Okay. A practical man would not waste a means to climb out onto his roof and clear the moss away, or inspect the shingles after a windstorm.
Sure enough, the widow’s walk included a small door, and sure enough, City Security had cut corners and left it unwired. She picked the lock and was in the attic in less than a minute. She lowered the recessed ladder, descended into the master bedroom closet, walked into the master suite, and stood on the thick Oriental carpet next to the Thackers’ king-sized bed. Laughing softly, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed the Thackers’ Southern California home.
Mr. Thacker answered.
She took care to erase any amusement from her tone. “This is Summer Leigh of Summer Homes Vacation Concierge Associates.”
“Oh. Yes.” His voice turned wary. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I’ve done for you, Mr. Thacker. I’ve proved your security system is lacking.”
Now he became indulgent. “And how did you do that?”
“I’m standing in your master bedroom, and you’ll note I arrived without City Security’s knowledge.”
A stunned moment of silence, then, “I don’t believe you!”
“I thought you might say that, so let me live-video my surroundings.” She pointed the camera around the room, then brought it back to her and waved and said, “Hi, Mr. Thacker.”
“How did you…? How did you get…?” He was gasping.
She hoped he didn’t have a heart attack. “I came in through the unsecured portion of your home. What I’ll do next is go out onto your deck. That should set off the City Security alarm, and they will call the police, and then they will call you.” As she opened the door and walked outside, she said, “I hope I’ve convinced you to give me the chance to work with you on keeping your vacation home safe. Not only can I make sure a break-in is almost impossible for anyone but the most expert burglar—”
“Like
you
?” he said.
“I assure you, Mr. Thacker, I am not an expert burglar.” Although she continued to sharpen her skills. “I can pick a few locks—which, when my clients locked themselves out of the house, is a useful skill—and I’m knowledgeable about the vulnerable entrances of a home. What you and so many homeowners don’t realize is that a determined burglar can always find a way to enter your house, and that every safety precaution should be taken.”
“Then why are you better than anyone else?”
“I live close, in Virtue Falls, and should someone set off the alarm, I can be here before law enforcement. If the burglar does damage, I can repair it before your next visit.”
“The police will be there soon enough!” Mr. Thacker’s voice was rising.
Okay. He was really angry. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a successful gamble after all.
“Actually, if you’ll hold for a moment, I believe the sheriff is calling me now.” She went to the other line. “Sheriff Jacobsen?”
“Did you break into the Thackers’ house?” He sounded exasperated.
“Yes, but I left a message with Mona telling you I was going to do so.”
“She forgot to pass on the message.”
“Mona’s not very reliable, is she?”
Summer thought she heard him mutter something about sequined knee pads. Then he said, “You have got to stop this or someday I will end up arresting you.” He sounded as if that would make him unhappy.
It would make her unhappy, too. She didn’t need Sheriff Jacobsen poking around in her business. On the other hand, landing the Thacker job would make it possible for her to justify hiring office staff for twenty hours a week. “I’ve only broken into one other house.”
In the state of Washington.
“Which is two more than most people!” Sheriff Jacobsen’s voice rose. “My actual concern is that you may break into the wrong house and get shot.”
She touched the Glock she kept holstered under her jacket. “I will endeavor not to have that happen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back and smooth Mr. Thacker’s ruffled feathers.”
“Not quite yet,” the sheriff said crisply. “My mother, Margaret, would like to meet you. Elizabeth is out of town at a geological conference, so you’re the ideal person to distract Margaret from her loneliness. Is Thursday night at seven all right with you?”
Astonishment gave way to outrage. “You’re blackmailing me. If I don’t visit, you’ll arrest me.”
“Yes.”
“Blackmail is illegal.”
“Report it to the local authorities. You can do so Thursday night at the resort at seven.” Sheriff Jacobsen hung up.
Huh. She had realized he was suspicious of her. But she’d never expected blackmail. On Thursday night, she would have to watch her every word.
She clicked back into the call with Mr. Thacker.
And found Mrs. Thacker was also on the line. She was laughing.
Mr. Thacker was not, but he wasn’t quite as huffy, and by the time the call ended, Summer had obtained the promise of a signed contract that would allow her to handle the security of their home and property. Mr. Thacker even promised to send her a key so she wouldn’t have to break in every time. They finished the call when City Security buzzed in, undoubtedly to inform the Thackers they had an intruder in their vacation home.
At that point, Summer had been inside for over thirty minutes. She wouldn’t want to be the person at City Security who spoke with Mr. Thacker now.
Seating herself at Mrs. Thacker’s dressing table, Summer took deep breaths to calm herself.
She had won.
She had won the account, she had a viable business, she could afford to hire Kateri.
She had won.
After a big scene like this one, she always realized how much she had risked, and how much she could lose. At the same time, she knew she needed to properly establish herself in the community before trouble hit.
And trouble was coming.
She would bring it on herself.
Reluctantly, she pulled the drawing out of her inner pocket and spread it on the table before her.
When she’d run from Wildrose Valley, when she lost her backpack, she had lost the catering money that would have made her start in Virtue Falls so much easier … and she also had lost the drawings she’d been making of the kidnapping. Over the past months, in her spare time, she had re-created them, slashing them down in harsh black-and-white, usually in the wee hours of the morning when the nightmares woke her.