A Most Shocking Revelation (16 page)

“That could be enough motivation for her to kill Jonathan,” Connor said.

“She recruited Malcolm to help her because he was an outcast in the eyes of the Devlins. And she might have framed Val to cover up her own crimes,” Gavin added. “Especially Durmorr's murder.”

“Or Val and Gretchen could be working together,” Connor said.

Gavin refused to believe that Val would involve herself in a murder scheme with the likes of Gretchen Halifax, even if he had witnessed a tense conversation between them the week before last. Whether that was his head talking or his heart, it didn't matter. He'd continue to believe in Valerie's innocence until proven otherwise. First, he needed to find her.

The dispatcher's voice calling Gavin from his portable radio jarred him back into action. Unhooking it from his belt, he depressed the button and said, “Go ahead.”

“The deputies answered a ten-seventy in the county, Sheriff.
Rivera said you'd definitely want to know about it because it looks like arson.”

Damn. Just what he needed on top of everything else, a suspicious fire. “What's the ten-twenty?”

“Jonathan Devlin's house.”

M
any times during his law-enforcement career Gavin had witnessed destruction and degradation, a complete disrespect for human life through acts that defied both logic and decency. But not once during his career had he ever felt so sick—until now.

Just thinking that Valerie might somehow still be in the blazing inferno sent him into action, ignoring the nausea resting like a rock in his gut. He bolted from the SUV and into the ash raining all around, heading toward what was left of the house, until a hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back.

“Don't do it, Gavin.”

He turned and shook off Jake's grasp. He wasn't surprised to find him there. Putting out fires had always been Jake's calling, in every way possible. But tonight, Gavin damn sure wasn't going to let him interfere. Not if a chance remained that Val was still in the house. “I'm not going to let her die, Jake, I don't care—”

“She's not in there,” Jake said. “Someone saw her leave about twenty minutes ago.”

Gavin's mind whirled from confusion even while his frame relaxed from relief. “Then you're saying she set the place on fire?”

“I'm saying you need to talk to the witness.”

Gavin followed Jake's gesture to a thin, elderly woman standing near two of his deputies, clutching a small terrier. Mrs. Velma Bradford, the neighbor who'd contacted them about the prowler.

He regarded Jake again, not quite ready to believe but more than ready to run into the burning building. “My car's on the street and I know she was driving it.”

“We pushed it out of the drive so it wouldn't suffer any damage.”

“But if Val's not in my car, then who did she leave with?”

Jake rested a hand on his shoulder. “Come talk to Mrs. Bradford. You're going to want to hear what she has to say.”

Gavin wiped his eyes with the back of his arms, but his vision didn't want to clear. Just the soot and ash, the heat of the fire, nothing more. He didn't get emotional at scenes like this. He couldn't, for the sake of his own sanity. He had to stay grounded. He had to find Val.

When he reached the widow, Gavin held out his hand for her to take. “Good seeing you again, Mrs. Bradford. Mayor Thorne says you witnessed something tonight.”

She set the dog on its feet and pulled her shawl close to her body. “Oh, yes, Sheriff. I was out walking my Winston and right before I went back in the house, I saw a woman drive up. That Gretchen woman who ran for mayor and thankfully didn't win.” She shot Jake a toothy grin.

“Are you certain it was her?” Gavin asked.

“Yes. She drives that big white car. I think she's the one I've seen at the house before. Oddly she parked down the road a bit and then walked around back.”

He tried to remain calm even though he wanted to get out of there and go find Val immediately. “Did you see anything after that?”

She scooped the whining, ancient dog into her arms. “I went into the house and looked out the windows. I saw another younger blonde drive up—” she pointed to Gavin's GTO “—in that car. She pulled in the drive all the way to the rear of the
house. They were in there for about fifteen minutes before they left together in the white car.”

Gavin's concern increased. “The younger blonde, did she look like she was leaving with the older woman willingly?”

Mrs. Bradford straightened to her full height. “No, she did not. In fact, it looked as if the other woman was practically dragging her to the car. She showed her to the driver's door and shoved her inside, then took off. That's when I saw the smoke and called 911.”

Gavin patted Mrs. Bradford's back. “Thank you. You've been a big help.”

“Will I have to make a statement?” she asked hopefully.

Thank God for nosy neighbors. “Definitely.” Gavin gestured at Annie standing nearby. “Deputy Rivera will escort you into your house and write everything down.”

“What now, O'Neal?”

When Gavin turned to find Connor standing behind him, he motioned him away from the milling crowd. “We need to get out of here immediately.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to your place. I know exactly where the gold is buried, thanks to Val.”

“Then you're convinced it's on Windcroft land?”

“Yeah, and I'll tell you all the details on the way.” First, Gavin had something important he had to attend to immediately. “Do you have your gun?”

Connor patted his coat. “Right here.”

“Good. Now raise your right hand.”

“What?”

“I don't have time for questions, dammit! Just do it.”

When Connor slowly lifted his hand, Gavin said, “Do you swear to uphold the laws of Royalton County?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay, you're deputized. Now let's get the hell out of here.”

Connor hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Why are you making me a deputy when you have all these men standing around?”

“I'll tell you in a minute.” Gavin waited until he was behind the wheel and Connor was settled into the passenger seat before he explained. “If Val is somehow involved in this scheme with Gretchen, then I want you to arrest her because I can't do it. And if it came down to having to…” He couldn't even think it, much less say it. “I trust you to treat her with care.”

But if Mrs. Bradford's poor eyesight hadn't deceived her, that meant Val could be Gretchen Halifax's next victim. And if Gretchen laid one hand on his lady, he'd shoot the murderous bitch first and ask questions later.

 

Many times during her experience with social work, Valerie had seen lost souls caught in the grip of confusion. But this was the first time she'd stared criminal madness—and evil—right in the eye. She was also staring down the barrel of a gun.

Gretchen kept the weapon trained on Valerie as she guided her through the winter-dry field, a shovel gripped in her fur-glove-covered hand. Valerie held the lone flashlight as they walked the perimeter of the small lake searching for the elusive willow etched with initials that had been carved there over a hundred years before. But was it still there? Maybe it had withered away with time. Maybe someone had even cut it down. But she didn't dare suggest that to her captor for fear that Gretchen would put the gun to good use.

The night air bit at Valerie's face where Gretchen had slapped her hard after she'd at first refused to tell her anything. Her only recourse had been to lead Gretchen to the hiding place and pray that she found an opportunity to escape. If not, she hoped that after Gretchen had her gold, she would let her go. Yet that seemed highly unlikely. The woman had killed before. She wouldn't hesitate to kill again—especially a witness.

“Shine the light on that tree,” Gretchen said, her voice edgier than before.

Valerie complied, only to find a gnarled trunk and no initials. “That's not it.”

Gretchen waved the gun. “Look on the other side. It's the only willow we've seen so far.”

Rounding the tree, Valerie centered the beam on a massive knothole, and above that the letters B.W. and J.G., divided by a heart, carved into the ancient wood.

“This is it!” Now Gretchen's tone held a note of hysteria.

“We've found it!”

Yes, they had found it, the place where Valerie's great-great-grandmother had been courted by the sheriff. How surreal that her own life had paralleled Jess's, right down to the impending arrest by the man that she loved. But where Jess had reportedly killed her lover, Valerie wouldn't dare harm a hair on Gavin's beautiful head. She'd rather die first. And she just might face that situation if she didn't find a way out of this whole mess.

“Grab some wood and build a fire,” Gretchen demanded. “I can stay warm while you dig.”

Valerie whipped around and shone the light on her. “I don't have any matches.”

After leaning the shovel against the tree, Gretchen threw back her head and cackled like some horror-show creature. “How soon we forget that I've already started one fire tonight.” She withdrew a slender gold lighter from her pocket.

Not only was the woman a murderer but she was also a pyromaniac. After Valerie handed over the flashlight, Gretchen aimed the beam on the ground while Valerie searched for kindling. As soon as she had a few sticks and limbs crisscrossed in a pile, then covered with leaves—something she'd learned during her stint as a counselor at a camp for troubled kids—she straightened and wiped her palms on her jeans. “It's all yours.”

“Now take this lighter to start the fire. And don't do anything stupid.”

After Valerie knelt before the wood, it took three attempts to spark the lighter—the same lighter Gretchen had used to set fire to the drop cloths covering the furniture at Jonathan Devlin's home. The flame flickered, then caught quickly, as if they'd been blessed by all the demons of hell. Not surprising considering the presence of the queen demon.

“Okay, it's done,” Valerie said as she straightened. “What now?”

Gretchen dropped down onto a nearby fallen limb, laid the flashlight in her lap and withdrew Jess's diary, the gun still pointed at Valerie. She opened a page and chuckled. “Isn't this cute? All about how her father gave her a pony on her fifth birthday. Such useless drivel, don't you think?” Slowly, systematically, she tore the page from the diary, balled it up and tossed it into the fire.

Damn her!
“I gather you don't like horses.”

“I don't like sentimentality.” She snapped the diary closed, stood again and then waved the flashlight at the shovel. “Start digging.”

Valerie grabbed the tool and impaled the frozen ground, using all her weight, her fury and her feet to drive it deeper. Still, at this rate the excavation could take hours. Then again, that might not be a bad thing. If Gavin had returned to the house and found the map, he would know where to find her, and the fire would serve as a beacon. Or he could have assumed she'd fled, avoided her bedroom and issued an immediate APB on his former lover turned fugitive. A murdering, gold-digging femme fatale—or so he believed.

“How did you know I had the final clue to the gold?” she asked as she shoveled more dirt, resisting the urge to toss some on Gretchen's faux-fur hat.

“After I saw the pendant, which is outlined in the diary, I put it all together,” she said. “In fact, I did a little research and I know all about you. How does it feel to be the great-great-granddaughter of an outlaw and the daughter of a murderer?”

How does it feel to be a murderer?
Valerie wanted to say but refrained. “I haven't seen my mother in years. She doesn't matter anymore.” Oh, but she did. She always had, despite her flaws. Still, Valerie couldn't change the past.

Gretchen moved closer to the fire, casting her black fur coat in an eerie blue glow. She looked like a feral cat, ready to pounce. “You know, Valerie, considering your criminal record, there's obviously a little of her in you. Maybe even a lot. Of course, the sheriff certainly thinks so now.” She released an abrasive laugh.
“Too bad for you both. But as I told you in the diner, he's much too good for you….”

As Gretchen continued deriding Valerie for her shortcomings, a small crackling noise sounded in the distance. At first Valerie thought it was the fire, but then she heard it again—the muffled sound of footsteps. Or she could be imagining things. But then she saw it, a flash of white in the darkness, close to the ground and still several yards away. Help had arrived—to arrest them both. Fortunately Gretchen hadn't seemed to notice. Yet.

Valerie had to keep her distracted. Better still, she had to force her to confess. Whoever might be waiting in the shadows, she wanted them to know she had nothing to do with any of this.

Jabbing the shovel into the ground, she unearthed more dirt than she had before, thanks to a rush of adrenaline. “So tell me, Gretchen, how did you manage to plant that gun beneath my car?”

The woman had the audacity to look proud. “Oh, that was simple. About three weeks ago I waited until nightfall and while you were still cleaning up inside the diner, I found your car around back and stuck the gun right in the wheel well.” Her grin was pure cunning. “I do so hate getting my hands dirty, so I wore gloves, which of course kept my fingerprints off the gun. Now, poking that hole underneath was a little more challenging, but I managed.”

Valerie's mechanical problems had been the result of sabotage at the hands of a deranged killer. “You knew I would have to get it fixed and someone would find it.”

“Precisely, although I didn't expect it to take quite that long. It's so hard to find good help these days, isn't it?”

Valerie shot her a fake look of understanding. “So true. And when you murdered Malcolm, how did you manage to get my hair planted on him?”

“I found that at the diner.” She laid a slender hand on her throat. “You really shouldn't leave your hairbrush in a public restroom. It's a haven for DNA.”

Valerie heard another rustle, and on the off chance it was Gavin, she began to whistle.

“You sound so happy, Valerie,” Gretchen said. “Perhaps you're excited to finally see your grandmother's gold.”

“I don't care about the gold,” Valerie said. “I only want the diary and any documentation that's with the gold. You can take every last bit of it. By the time I walk back into town, you'll be well into Mexico.”

Gretchen moved beside her and waved the diary. “Are you sure you really want this? It cost Jonathan Devlin his life.”

Valerie halted the shovel. “You also killed Mr. Devlin?”

“Actually Malcolm Durmorr did, although he botched it the first time and sent the man into a coma. I had to persuade him to finish the job. One little injection into his IV and that was the end of that.”

She spoke as if taking a man's life was a daily routine, sickening Valerie even more. “How exactly did you persuade Malcolm to do your dirty work for you?”