The Private Eye (23 page)

“I will. You stay put, understand?”

“Maybe I should follow you,” Maggie suggested
helpfully. “In the mysteries I've read, the hero always gets into trouble when
he doesn't have backup.”

Josh moved to squelch that idea at once. “No. You're
not going to follow me. I don't want you anywhere near the house.” He shut the
door with a firm thunk and started through the trees toward the manor. He
didn't look back-He was afraid Maggie might view that as an indication that he
was having second thoughts about allowing her to accompany him.

He wanted her safe.

The shadowy figure of Wilcox moved steadily toward the
manor. It was easy to keep track of him through the trees. Wilcox didn't once
check behind to see if anyone was tracking him. He was intent on his goal; a
man on a mission.

Josh edged closer, using the deep shadows of the trees
for concealment just in case Wilcox got smart at the last minute and took a
good look around.

Wilcox walked along the side of the manor and went
right up to the kitchen door. Josh shook his head in amazement at the man's boldness.
He watched as Wilcox set down the parcel he was carrying and slipped a key into
the kitchen-door lock.

It had undoubtedly been very easy for the handyman to
get a key to the back door. Josh reflected.

Much too easy. Josh decided he would institute some new
security precautions around the place when this was all over.

It struck him quite forcibly that he was already
thinking of Peregrine Manor as his home.

Josh waited until Wilcox had let himself into the
darkened kitchen before he followed. He paused on the back-door step and
listened as Wilcox clomped across the tile floor. When he was certain Wilcox
was in the hall and heading for the basement. Josh silently let himself into
the kitchen.

He moved out into the hall when he heard Wilcox's big
boots on the stairs that led down to the basement.

This was good enough. Josh decided. He had Wilcox
neatly trapped. AU that was necessary now was to dose the basement door and
lock it from this side and call the sheriff to report an intruder. While waiting
for the sheriff to arrive. Josh would make certain Wilcox didn't wriggle out
through one of the ground-level windows.

Piece of cake.

A snap.

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

No heroics required.

This was the way a job was supposed to go—simple and
neat.

Josh caught the unmistakable whiff of kerosene Just as
he was about to shut the basement door. And suddenly he realized what had been
in the parcel under Wilcox's arm. Not tools for staging another act of mischief—kerosene.

Wilcox had gotten desperate, all right. He was planning
to set fire to the manor. The fact that the odor of the highly flammable liquid
was strong on the stairs meant the handyman was already going to work.

So much for simply locking the door and calling the
sheriff. The kerosene would do untold damage to the Colonel's files, besides
which the least little spark would start a blaze that could bum down the manor.

“Hold it right there, you bastard!” Josh flicked on the
light switch as he leaped down the steps.

The lights came on, revealing Wilcox caught in the act
of pouring a thin stream of kerosene across the concrete floor. He was working
his way slowly and methodically toward the Colonel's filing cabinets. Wilcox
looked up, startled. At least Josh assumed the handyman was startled. His
expression was barely altered. Maggie had been right. Wilcox had all the
animation of a banana.

Dwight set the kerosene can down at his feet. “Stay
back, January. It's too late.” He dug into his hip pocket and came up with a
cigarette lighter.

Josh swore but wasted no more breath trying to talk the
fool out of what he obviously intended. He reached the bottom step and threw
himself forward in a long, flat dive just as Wilcox flicked the lighter and
touched the flame to the thin rivulet of kerosene.

The trajectory of his dive brought Josh down on Wilcox
like a ton of bricks, carrying both men heavily to the floor. But even as he
rolled on the concrete, struggling to pin the other man. Josh heard the terrifying
whoosh of fire.

There was a shout from the top of the stairs.

“Josh!”

It was Maggie. Josh heard her racing down into the
basement. He could smell the kerosene burning and he wanted to yell at her,
order her to get out of the firetrap.

He forced himself to ignore everything but the job at
hand. First things first. He could do nothing about the fire until he had
Wilcox under control.

And Wilcox had somehow managed to produce a knife in
his right fist. The man was good with tools.

Josh slammed a body blow into his opponent and started
to roll to his feet. Wilcox lashed out with a series of blade thrusts. Already
off balance. Josh threw himself out of the range of the blade, stumbled... and
came down far too heavily on his weak left ankle. Pain tore through him. So did
rage.

“You son of a bitch!” Josh kicked out with his left
foot, ignoring the agony. He had no choice; he was going to have to use his
right foot to anchor himself.

The bone-shattering blow connected with Wilcox's
forearm. It sent the knife flying and it caused Wilcox to crumple. The last of
the fight went out of him. He lay in a helpless heap on the floor.

An instant later, foam from a fire extinguisher
cascaded over everything in sight.

Josh closed his eyes as the white stuff splattered
across his face and covered his shirt. “Point it

toward the fire, Maggie.”

“I'm trying. It's heavy.”

Josh wiped off the foam and opened his eyes. Maggie
was, indeed, struggling with the big, unwieldy extinguisher. But she had
managed to douse the flames.

She set the extinguisher down and looked at him
triumphantly. “We did it. We saved the manor.”

Josh looked at her and then looked at the can of
kerosene that was sitting a short distance away. He felt a little sick as his
imagination conjured up horrifying possibilities and might-have-been scenarios.
He wanted to shake Maggie for the risk she had just taken.

“I told you to wait in the car. That thing could have
gone up like a bomb,” Josh said evenly, exerting an incredible amount of effort
to control his temper.

“But it didn't,” she replied cheerfully. “I got to the
fire in time and you got Wilcox. We make a great team, don't we, January? What
do think about ditching your friend McCray and taking on a new partner? Peregrine
Point doesn't have an investigation agency.”

Before Josh could think of a response to that there was
another shout from the top of the stairs. The Colonel lumbered down the steps,
a huge, old revolver in his fist. Odessa and Shirley were right behind him,
clutching at their robes.

“Oho!” yelled the Colonel exultantly. “You got him.
Always knew you were a martial-arts man. Said it the first time I saw you, if
you remember, January.”

Josh took a deep breath and got a grip on his temper.
He turned toward Wilcox. It was time for some answers.

“All right, Wilcox. Who paid you to do this little
job?”

There was a stunned silence behind him as everyone in
the basement absorbed the implications of the question. Josh knew he needed to
act swiftly if he was going to get to the bottom of the thing. If Wilcox had
time to recover from the shock and the pain he was in right now, he might think
twice about talking.

“He didn't pay me nothin',” Wilcox muttered. “Said he'd
tell everyone in town I had a record if I didn't do what he said. I'd never
have gotten any more work. Don't ya see? I had to do it. He forced me. It was
blackmail, that's what it was. And he kept complainin' cause nothin' ever
worked.”

“Good grief,” Maggie breathed.

Wilcox turned his head toward her and regarded her with
something that might have been hurt reproach.

“You was supposed to sell after the first couple of
incidents. You was too stubborn. That was the problem. It weren't my fault. I
told him that.”

“Did you?” Maggie asked quietly-”What did he say?”

“He said I had to go back and try somethin' else.”
Wilcox cradled his broken wrist. “So I did. And look what happened.”

“Yeah,” said Josh. “Life's tough sometimes. But the way
I see it, there's no need for you to take the rap for this all by yourself.”

Wilcox peered intently up at him. “You can't touch him.
He'll have covered his tracks. He's real clever. Not dumb like me. It'll be my
word against his.”

“No.” Josh shook his head. “I can nail him. All I need
is a little information. I can nail anyone if I have the right information.”

“I'd like to see that.” Wilcox grimaced. “I'd like to
see you nail him, all right. Made my life hell, he has.”

“Tell me who set you up. Dwight,” Josh urged gently.
“And I'll set him up for you.”

Wilcox stared at him with what might have been
eagerness, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Like to see that.” Dwight nodded. “Yeah, I'd really
like to see that. Bastard. He deserves it.”

Maggie frowned. “Who deserves it, Dwight?”

“That fancy real-estate man. You know. The guy with the
pinkie ring. O'Connor,” said Dwight.

Chapter 11

JOSH STOOD MOTIONLESS in the darkest shadows of the
O'Connor Real Estate office. He had been there nearly three hours. It was two
in the morning. Not a single car had moved down the main street of Peregrine
Point for the past hour.

One of the hardest things about this kind of work, Josh
reflected, was the waiting. Of course, now that he was changing jobs, he
wouldn't be spending many more nights like this one. He planned to spend his
evenings curled up in bed with his new boss.

He wondered when he should tell Maggie that he planned
to stay at Peregrine Manor permanently— not just a month or two.

Josh reached down absently to massage his aching ankle.
Maggie had wanted to put an ice pack on it but he had told her there was no
time for first aid. He didn't know how long O'Connor would wait for Dwight
Wilcox to report, but Josh figured it wouldn't be long. When Wilcox didn't
show. O'Connor would get nervous. And when he got nervous, he would most likely
want to destroy anything that could be used as evidence.

Josh had already amused himself going through the files
with a tiny penlight. He could have done the search without the light if it had
been necessary—there was enough of a neon glow filtering in through the windows
to illuminate much of the office interior.

He had found what he was looking for inside a small,
locked drawer. He had the file in his hand.

Josh heard the soft purr of the Mercedes engine from a
block away. His body responded with the adrenaline rush that always went
through him at times like this.

O'Connor parked the silver Mercedes outside the office
and got out. Josh watched as Clay glanced quickly around and then dug his keys
out of the pocket of his expensively styled trench coat. He was so nervous he
dropped them on the sidewalk.

His head ducked deep into his upturned collar, Clay
hurried to the front door of the office and shoved a key into the lock. He
didn't bother to turn on the lights.

Josh watched from the shadows as Clay headed unerringly
across the room to the small, locked drawer. He waited until he heard O'Connor's
sharply indrawn breath.

“Looking for this?” Josh reached out and switched on
the light. He idly slapped the file of papers he was holding against his leg.

“January!” Clay stared at the file, his mouth working.
“What the hell are you doing here? You're trespassing. I'll have you arrested.”

“Will you?” Josh strolled over to the desk and sat down
behind it. He opened the file folder and glanced at the incriminating paperwork
in front of him. “Not exactly a routine multiple listing, is it, O'Connor? But,
then, Maggie had no intentions of selling in the first place. So you tried to
convince her.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Clay's face was
turning an ugly shade of red. He was sputtering. “That file is private
property.”

“This file,” Josh said coldly, “is an agreement to sell
Peregrine Manor quite cheaply to a New York development firm.”

“There's no thing wrong with an offer like that.
Real-estate people are always soliciting clients. It's the way we make our
living.”

“Yeah. Except that the manor isn't for sale. And you
knew it.” Josh flipped through the paperwork.

“Hell of a commission for you in this, isn't there,
O'Connor? Not the usual six percent.”

“It's a finder's fee,” O'Connor raged. “Perfectly
legitimate.”

“Only if the manor was actually for sale. And only if
you had informed the seller of the true value of the property. Which you did
not, did you?” Josh slanted O'Connor an interested look. “You didn't tell anyone,
including Maggie, what the New York firm was really willing to pay for that
stretch of land, did you? When did the New Yorkers first put out feelers?”