Rock Harbor Series - 01 - Without a Trace (21 page)

“It’s not going anywhere fast,” Bree told him. “There are no real leads I know of. Samson and I found Fay’s backpack, but Mason said there wasn’t much of anything extraordinary in it. Hilary took Fay’s notebook home tonight to see if there are any clues in it.”

“You should let Mason handle it. Why are you getting involved? It might be dangerous,” Lily said.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Bree said. She told them of the woman and the discovery of Davy’s glove. “So you see, this woman could be my link to the plane.”

Lily clapped her hands. “Oh, Bree, how wonderful! I know finding them means everything to you. You’ve kept so much of yourself bottled up this past year. I do pray for closure for you.”

Bree took a sip of her hot cider. “You had some business dealings with Fay, didn’t you, Palmer? Had you finalized the deal to buy that old mine?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. The papers were ready to be signed. Steve is dragging his feet now, but I think we’ve got all the kinks ironed out and are ready to close the deal.”

“I still don’t understand what you want with that old place,” Lily sighed.

“Our town will die if we don’t get some tourism,” Palmer said. “That old mine will make a great living museum. I could buy another mine, but I’m glad this deal is going through. It might help Steve out a bit. Besides, I’m doing my part to save a slice of Yooper history.”

Bree leaned forward. “Did Fay ever mention the plane crash to you?”

Palmer’s brow furrowed. “Not that I recall. Oh, she was sorry about it when it happened, of course. Why?”

“I need a clue for where to look for that cabin. Fay was all over the U.P., and it’s as hard to know where to look for the woman’s cabin as it is to know where to look for the plane. I’m going to Donovan’s tomorrow to see if the dogs can pick up her scent, but if that fails, I’ll have to figure out where to look next.”

“You don’t suspect a link between Fay’s death and the plane crash, do you?” Palmer asked.

Bree considered his question then slowly shook her head. “Not really a link. How could there be? The crash was nearly a year ago, and it was an accident. But maybe retracing her steps could lead me to the woman. Besides, Steve has asked me to help.”

Lily moved the fire screen back into place and returned to sit beside Bree. “You do what you have to do,” she told her. “Though Palmer wants to help Steve by taking this mine off his hands, I’m still not convinced he didn’t kill her himself. He had plenty of motive.”

Palmer frowned. “Steve is too strait-laced for murder. He’s not dangerous, but the real murderer sure is. I don’t want you to get hurt, Bree. Whoever killed Fay is dangerous. He may not want to hurt you, but if you keep poking around, he may have no choice.”

“I’ll be careful,” Bree said. “I have Samson, after all.”

At the sound of his name, Samson pricked his ears forward and got up. The girls protested and called to him when he came to stand at Bree’s knees. He pressed his cold nose against her hand, and she rubbed his thick fur. “You’ll protect me, boy, won’t you?” He whined, his dark eyes full of love, and she petted his back.

Palmer snorted. “Samson is a great dog, but I’m afraid the only danger a prowler would face would be getting licked to death.”

Samson seemed to understand this slur on his integrity, for the fur on his neck stood up, and he gave Palmer a long stare. They all laughed.

“Better watch out, Palmer, or Samson will show you just how protective he can be,” Bree said.

Palmer leaned forward and patted the dog’s back. “He doesn’t scare me any.”

Samson gave him another long stare then turned back to Bree.

“I think you’ve offended him,” Lily laughed. “Maybe a doggie treat will sweeten his mood.”

“I happen to have one in my backpack.” Bree dug into her pack and pulled out a box of doggie treats. Palmer took one and offered it
to Samson. The dog sniffed it but turned away and laid his head on Bree’s knee.

“He’s never done that before.” Bree rubbed her hands over her dog. “I wonder if he’s getting sick.”

She grasped Samson’s chin and raised his head so she could look into his eyes. The dog’s dark and alert gaze reassured her. He pressed his nose against her hand again. Frowning, she rubbed his head. “He seems to be all right. I don’t know what’s up with him. Maybe he’s tired. I’m beat myself.”

“Let me put some of these cookies in a plastic bag for you to take home,” Lily said hastily when Bree rose to say her good-byes.

“I wouldn’t turn them down.” Bree scooped up Paige and hugged her. The feel of the little girl’s warm body, round and innocent, brought back so many memories, both good and painful. She set her down and grabbed up Penelope.

“How much do you love me?” she asked the child.

Penelope wrapped her arms around Bree’s neck and squeezed.

“Wow, that much?” Bree hugged her close and kissed the petal-soft cheek.

The little girl nodded, and Bree kissed her again before setting her down. “I’d better get going. Samson and I are going to get back on the search trail again tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” Lily said. “I’ll be praying.”

“Thanks.” She wanted to say it wouldn’t do any good, but maybe her heart was changing about that. Someone seemed to be watching out for her.

“And watch your back,” Palmer advised.

“I’ll be careful,” Bree promised. “Nothing is going to happen to me.” Lightning didn’t strike twice in the same place. Fate had tapped Rob and Davy on the shoulder and left her alone. She had a feeling that state of affairs wasn’t going to change.

She drove home and parked the Jeep. Walking to the door in the
cold night air, she heard wolves howling in the distance. Samson growled low in answer and sounded much like a wolf himself. The sound brought back Aunt Mathilda’s words about the Hound of Heaven, and Bree shivered. Such nonsense was just that—nonsense. Wasn’t it? Bree didn’t know anymore.

14

S
aturday dawned with more cold rain drizzling from a glowering sky. Everything was gray, from the sky to the wind-whipped waves on Lake Superior. Not a good day for a search, but Bree didn’t have time to wait for good weather. With a yellow rain slicker and hat covering her orange jumpsuit, Bree would stay mostly dry, but the dogs would be wet and muddy by the time the morning was done.

Hilary had called first thing in the morning to report she’d found nothing in the notebook. She agreed to meet for coffee at two and give Bree the notebook then. Bree loaded the gear in the Jeep then drove to Naomi’s and honked the horn. Naomi dashed through the rain and hopped into the car.

Shaking the water from her hair, she slammed the door. “Wouldn’t you think it’d be snowing by now? I’d rather have snow than this heavy rain.”

“Me too. Though the dogs should have no trouble getting the scent. The problem is the glove has been handled so much.”

Naomi seemed lost in thought as they drove to Donovan’s. Bree thought about asking her what was happening with her quest to get closer to Donovan, but she held her tongue. There was nothing more annoying than being questioned about your love life when nothing was going on.

The O’Reilly house was dark when Bree parked the Jeep. A dim blue glow brightened one window. “The kids must be watching cartoons,” she said.

The women got the dogs out of the vehicle, then Bree let them sniff Davy’s glove. She wasn’t too hopeful for the day’s search. Too many people had handled the glove. The scent they needed would be overlaid with the entire O’Reilly household, her own scent, Hilary’s, Mason’s, and Naomi’s.

Sure enough, the dogs nosed aimlessly through the brush and grew more dispirited as the rain continued to pelt them. They found no clear scent cone to follow. “This is getting us nowhere,” Bree said after an hour. “It’s nine o’clock. I’m ready to pack it in and head home. It was a long shot anyway.”

“You go ahead. I’ll walk back. I’m going shopping for clothes for the kids with Donovan today.” Her color high, Naomi winked at Bree and took Charley toward the front door of the O’Reilly house. “I bet there are two kids ready for some breakfast.”

“Good hunting,” Bree called with a chuckle. She put Samson in the Jeep and drove home.

Her lighthouse seemed warm and welcoming. The rain had finally stopped, and the clouds were breaking up. A fire would be welcome after the wet search. She toweled off Samson then lit the gas log in the fireplace. After a hot shower, she’d feel almost human again. A half-hour later, dressed in jeans and a warm fleece top, she took the wool throw from the back of the couch and curled up in front of the fire.

Though the morning’s search had been fruitless, Bree felt a sense of hope and purpose. At least she had a clue now.

Rob’s Bible still sat on the end table by the window. Bree’s gaze lingered on it. How could it hurt? She reached for it hesitantly. Anu had said to read Psalm 112 for words of wisdom on discerning true motives. She held the Bible to her nose and smelled the aroma of leather and print. Rob had read this book every morning, yet he’d still betrayed her. She almost put it aside, but she bit her lip and flipped open the cover to the table of contents. She found the page number for
Psalms and flipped through the thin pages almost to the middle of the book. She turned to number 112.

Praise the L
ORD
.

Blessed is the man who fears the L
ORD
,
who finds great delight in his commands.

His children will be mighty in the land;
the generation of the upright will be blessed.

These verses reminded Bree of Anu. Hilary was respected and had married well, and even Rob had been someone the town looked to for leadership as fire chief.

Wealth and riches are in his house,
and his righteousness endures forever.

Even in darkness light dawns for the upright,
for the gracious and compassionate and righteous man.

Good will come to him who is generous and lends freely,
who conducts his affairs with justice.

She frowned as she thought of Steve. He loaned money generously, though it wasn’t his own money. Did that apply? This was harder than it looked.

Surely he will never be shaken;
a righteous man will be remembered forever.

He will have no fear of bad news;
his heart is steadfast, trusting in the L
ORD
.

His heart is secure, he will have no fear;
in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.

He has scattered abroad his gifts to the poor;
his righteousness endures forever;
his horn will be lifted high in honor.

The wicked man will see and be vexed,
he will gnash his teeth and waste away;
the longings of the wicked will come to nothing
.

The wicked man was the one she was after. But she still didn’t know how to pick him out. She ran through the suspects. Steve, Eric, Lawrence, Kade. And Hilary, though Bree didn’t even want to think about that. But she couldn’t rule her out yet.

Her gaze wandered back to the verses.
Wealth and riches are in his
house.
Did that mean every person as rich and respected as Hilary was righteous? Surely not. She would have to ask Anu.

The words she’d read were strangely comforting. She’d been taught religion was a crutch for weak people, and she’d been appalled when Rob began to attend church and take Davy with him. They’d fought long and hard about it, but he’d refused to budge. If a Christian could do what Rob had done to her, what good was being a Christian? She wished she could talk to Anu about it, but she’d never told Rob’s family of his infidelity. Let them keep the perfect image they had of him.

Samson put his cold nose against her bare ankle, and the wet sensation jolted her out of her reverie. She put the Bible aside. The sun had finally come out, and she could get her chores done, though the mud outside wouldn’t make it easy. “Ready to get going, Samson?” Those flower beds wouldn’t get mulched by themselves.

The dog woofed, practically dancing with excitement. What she should do was get that brick repointed, but there was no way she would ever climb out on the tower again. Handyman work had never been her forte. Before Rob’s death, her expertise had started and stopped with wallpaper and paint, but little by little she was learning. She would have to pay someone to do it, though her bank balance might complain. After she mulched, she would make some calls. Snow would arrive any day, and the tower would never make it through another Upper Peninsula winter.

Samson followed her as she went downstairs and out the kitchen door to the backyard. She grabbed the pitchfork and began to layer straw onto her strawberry beds. The straw was soggy and heavy, and soon she was perspiring. After a few minutes, Samson turned his head and barked.

“What is it, boy?” Probably something as simple as the black squirrels raiding the bird feeders. As far as Samson was concerned, the neighborhood answered to him.

“I heard there was a tower around here somewhere about to fall down.” Kade’s deep voice startled her.

Bree jerked at the sound, and the straw on her pitchfork flipped onto Samson’s head. He gave her a wounded look and shook himself. She laughed, and Kade’s deep chuckle joined hers. Dressed in jeans and work boots with a rope slung over his shoulder, he grinned at the dog’s outrage. A Chicago Cubs cap, marred with flecks of paint and dirt, was pulled low over his eyes. A leather apron hung from his right hand.

She set down the pitchfork and wiped her fingers on her jeans. “You look like you’re ready for work.” A surprising warmth spread through her belly at the sight of him. Anxiousness too. Was he angry about the puppy? Maybe he’d been too mad to call her on the phone and wanted to confront her in person.

He opened the gate and stepped inside the backyard. Samson rushed to him and rubbed his head against Kade’s hand. Kade grabbed the dog’s head in both hands and worried it back and forth. Samson growled playfully, pleasure in every line of his posture.