On Deadly Ground (14 page)

Suddenly, his thoughts took a one-eighty. David couldn’t have done it. If he had, that meant the prowler episode and the fire at Rachel’s home had nothing to do with Bryce Donner’s death—and everyone believed the events were connected. Dead men didn’t rise from the grave to cover their crimes. He said as much to Rachel when she stepped back into the room wearing a purple T-shirt tucked into faded jeans.

Her green eyes lit excitedly. “That’s right. And Perris believes all three events are connected, too.” She strode toward the phone behind the lunch counter. “I’m calling him.”

“Let me say goodbye first. I need to look over my workshop on reptiles and get some brochures together for the assembly tomorrow.”

She stopped, and her smiled faltered. “Oh. Okay.” She walked him to the door. “It seems as though all I ever do is thank you.”

And it seemed as though all he ever did was leave. He opened the screen door.

“Jake?” She touched his arm, searched his eyes. But he kept his hands to himself. He wouldn’t back away completely because she could still be in danger. But there would be no more touching. He didn’t need another kick in the heart. “I’ll talk to you soon, Rachel.”

She moved her hand. “You, too,” she said quietly.

He’d stopped to give Maggie some attention when something she’d said earlier came to mind again. Glutton for punishment that he was, he lifted his voice. She was standing in the open screen door. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” she replied.

“You started to say something today after church, but didn’t finish. You wanted kids.”

He watched her step outside, fold her arms across her chest, then leave the stoop and walk over to join him. The cross he’d given her lay golden and gleaming against her purple T-shirt; David’s gold wedding band gleamed beside it every time she reached up to touch the cross.

“Yes, I would have liked that. But it didn’t happen. How about you? Ever think about having a few little Campbells?”

“Isn’t that what most men want? A family?” But without a wife to bear them, there was zero chance of his being a father anytime soon.

“Did Heather want them?”

He didn’t answer right away because some ridiculous part of him was suddenly feeling a flicker of hope. “I don’t know. Whenever I raised the subject, we ended up talking about cruises—and anything else that had nothing to do with diapers and middle-of-the-night feedings. I don’t think she was interested then.”

She spoke tentatively. “And now?”

Was that disappointment in her voice? He had to know, and he couldn’t tell. “We talked before she went home. Things aren’t working out with Mark.”

“Then she’s gone?”

“For the moment. She said she likes the area.” He considered what he was about to say next, then said it and waited for her reaction. “She wants to try again.”

Her reply wasn’t the one he was looking for, even though it took her a few moments to respond. “People
change,” she said quietly. “Maybe … maybe you should give her another chance.”

No way on God’s green earth. But finally seeing the writing on the wall, he snatched back a little of his pride and said grimly, “Maybe I should.”

R
achel awoke Monday morning to a whine and a cold wet nose against her cheek. She smiled tiredly into Maggie’s brown eyes. “Good morning to you, too,” she said. “Need to go out?” Maggie padded to the game room’s door and waited.

“Okay,” Rachel said, rising. “Let’s go.” Slipping on the blue robe Jenna had donated, she went into the store and opened both doors. Maggie bounded out into the thin drizzle. It was a dreary day. Storm clouds had moved in overnight, blocking out the sun. Rachel sighed. She needed sunshine today because the longer she stood looking out at the rain, the more she thought about last night’s conversation with Jake.

Was he really going to give Heather another chance? Or was he thinking about settling for less to have the children he wanted? At thirty-six did he think he was running out of time? That kind of betrayal would be difficult to forgive. She doubted that she could.

Maggie loped out of the woods across from the store, then ran back inside, shaking the rain from her coat as the alarm near the top of the driveway sounded. A moment later, Joe Reston rolled past the screen door to start his seven-to-three shift. Rachel returned his wave,
then closed the inside door and went to the galley to feed Maggie. There was no point in starting the coffee-maker. Jake would be at the elementary school today. He wouldn’t be stopping in until later. If at all.

She’d finished stocking her shelves and was making copies of the campground rules and regulations a few hours later when the phone rang. Tammy Reston was trying to reach her husband, and she sounded anxious.

“I hope I didn’t get you at a bad time, Rachel, but I can’t get him on his cell phone.”

“Yes, I know. There
is
no cell service once you get to the bottom of Crocker Hill.” She carried the handset to the door and let Maggie out again. It was still cloudy, but the rain had stopped. “Joe’s making his rounds now, but I can track him down, or leave a note at the cabin the security guys are using. He’ll head back there eventually.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to put you out.”

Maybe not, but she’d called the store hoping to reach him, and she still sounded tense. “It’s no trouble at all. I planned to post flyers at the cabins today anyway. I’ll just leave him a note asking him to call you from the store.”

“If you’re sure …”

“I am. Oh, one more thing as long as we’re talking. Can you add two more pies to my weekly order? A cherry and an apple?”

“I’d be glad to,” she returned. “Thanks, Rachel.”

“You’re welcome. Take care.”

Soon, armed with thumb tacks, laminated copies and a note for Joe, Rachel hiked through the wet grass to her five A-frame log cabins. Situated in a field behind the playground, they were tenderfoot favorites because of
their amenities and the privacy they afforded. They were also equipped with small, rustic porches and outdoor charcoal grills. Within minutes, she’d tacked copies of the rules to the back of the wooden doors on cabins one and two, and crossed the yard to the third. Joe Reston’s truck was parked in the short driveway beside the nearly ground-level porch.

“Joe?” she called, stepping onto the porch. “Are you in there?” She smelled coffee through the screen door—saw a mug and box of donuts sitting on the pine picnic table inside. But the golf cart was nowhere to be seen, so she knocked once for good measure and went in.

Some campgrounds in the area rented cabins with sleeping quarters only. Hers offered indoor plumbing, small showers and microwaves as well as rough-hewn pine beds with foam mattresses. All the comforts of home if home wasn’t too fancy.

Moving quickly, she dropped Joe’s note beside his coffee mug, tacked a laminated list of rules to the back of the inside door and left. She wasn’t sure why she turned to look at his rain-splashed truck. Maybe because he’d backed it in so close to the cabin, the side mirror barely missed the railing. But she looked.

What she saw on the front seat made her go still.

Quickly, she left the porch and strode to the driver’s side window for a second look. Chills ran the length of her. Tossed across the seat was a navy blue hooded windbreaker with an emblem on the back, half of which was hidden. Looking around nervously, she opened the door, straightened the jacket … and saw her “rabbit’s head.” Two white bowling pins flying away from a light blue ball!

Rachel ran pell-mell across the long field to the camp
store, her wet sneakers kicking through dandelions, her lungs on fire. Reaching it, she burst inside and rushed behind the lunch counter for the cordless handset and phone book. Her hands shook. She couldn’t call 9-1-1. There was no proof that Reston had done anything wrong. She had to speak to Perris—regardless of the fact that he’d been his usual derisive self yesterday when she’d phoned to offer near-proof of David’s innocence.

She sank to a stool and dialed. A moment later, secretary and daytime dispatcher Sarah French answered the phone in a pleasant singsong. “Charity Police Department. This is Sarah. How may I direct your call?”

“Sarah, it’s Rachel Patterson. I need to speak to Chief Perris immediately. Is he there?”

Picking up on her tension, Sarah responded quickly. “He just went to the diner for takeout. Is there another problem at the campground, Rachel? Fish is here. He can be down there in a—”

“Thanks, but I really need to speak to Perris. Can you have him call me when he gets back? And please stress how important it is that I speak to him. I’m not one of his favorite people. There’s a chance he could ‘forget’ to make the call.”

Sarah lowered her voice. “I’ll put the call through myself, Rachel. He shouldn’t be any longer than ten minutes or so. What’s your number there so I don’t have to look it up?”

Rachel gave her the number, then thanked her again and sat back to wait. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like forever until the phone rang and Perris’s cool baritone came on the line. “What can I do for you today, Mrs. Patterson?”

Rachel took a stabilizing breath. First things first.
Then she’d connect the dots. “You need to look into Joe Reston’s whereabouts the night Tim Decker’s bulldozer was vandalized.”

“And why do I need to do that?”

“Because I believe Joe stayed down here that night. He has a camp a few miles down the road.” She drew a shaky breath. “If he’s my prowler, and my prowler is the arsonist … there’s a chance he also killed Bryce Donner.” She backed up. “I saw a hooded jacket in Joe’s truck a few minutes ago. The emblem on the back was a bowling ball between two pins. I believe that’s what I saw that night. And Joe Reston had a motive.”

Perris released a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, what’s the motive? What would make Reston kill a friend?”

He knew Joe Reston and Bryce had been friends? Had he already questioned someone about Joe? “A woman,” she replied. “Tammy Reston was having an affair with Bryce before he died. Joe wouldn’t have liked that.”

“If
he’d known about it,” Perris said.

“All I’m asking you to do is follow up,” she said more sharply than she’d intended. She was tired of butting her head against Perris’s brick wall. “Isn’t that your job?”

It was the wrong thing to say to a man who’d already lost patience with her. “Let me save you some time, Nancy Drew,” he said, ice in his voice. “Someone came forward two days ago with this information. I’ve already spoken to Mr. Reston and he has a rock-solid alibi for the night of the vandalism. That alibi has agreed to testify on his behalf if it becomes necessary. I assured this person that it wasn’t.”

A woman. Tammy was right. Joe had been with a woman that night. Sighing, Rachel propped her elbow
on the counter and massaged the tension over her eyes. But … who would have been privy to that information? And who’d told Perris about Bryce and Tammy’s affair? Elmer?

The hairs on her arms prickled. The only person she could think of who might have steered Perris toward Joe Reston was Tammy. Flash-fire thoughts raced through her mind. Could Tammy have been in love with Bryce? And upon learning of Bryce’s murder, had she gone to Perris, heartsick and angry, and spilled everything? Especially if she believed—or knew—that Joe was cheating again?
Yes.

“Now if you don’t mind, Mrs. Patterson,” Perris concluded, “I’d like to eat my lunch before it gets any colder.”

Wincing, Rachel yanked herself out of her thoughts. “Of course. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome. I trust we won’t be speaking about this again.”

Rachel pressed the disconnect button on the handset, exhaled raggedly, then spun slowly on her stool. She felt horrible. Worse than horrible. And she could cross Perris off her list as an ally the next time she needed one—not that he’d ever been one. At least she knew the head of her security team wasn’t a kill—

Big Joe Reston tore open the screen door, nearly ripping it from its hinges, then stormed across the room. A sick feeling pooled in Rachel’s stomach. Dear God, how long had he been there! How much had he heard? She tried to rise from the stool, but he was on her in a moment, slamming his meaty hands on the bar on either side of her and pinning her to the counter.

He jammed his beet-red face close to hers. “Where
do you get off sticking your nose in other people’s lives?”

“Joe, I’m sorry! Let me—”

“Explain?” he thundered. “It’s a little late for explanations when you accuse a man of murder. Do you know how many people have jackets like mine? Dozens! And for your information, I didn’t kill Donner. But if I’d known about him and Tammy, he would’ve wished he was dead.” Swearing, he levered himself away, bounced her wadded note off her lap and stalked to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to my wife. You can mail my paycheck.”

Shaken to her core, Rachel waited until the door slammed behind him and the golf cart took off. Then she grabbed the handset from the counter, found Tammy’s cell phone number in her caller history and hit Redial. She had to reach Tammy before Joe did! A recorded voice told her to leave a message. She flipped through the phone book again—dialed the sporting goods store. One ring … two rings … three.

“Pick up, Tammy,” she said nervously. “Pick up.”

A second answering machine kicked in. This time, Tammy’s lilting honky-tonk thanked her for calling Reston’s Sporting Goods and listed their hours. “We close for lunch at noon, but we’ll be back at one. See you then!”

Rachel froze again as Joe Reston’s truck roared up the driveway and fishtailed past the door. Seconds later that high-pitched beep sounded. He was flying!

Praying, begging God to keep Tammy safe, she tried the Reston home, then the diner and the Quick Mart … but to no avail. “Sweet Jesus, help her,” she whispered fervently. “Please don’t let Joe hurt her.”

*  *  *

Jake carried a box of leftover brochures and his rattlesnake and copperhead models into his office, then shed his uniform and pulled on jeans and a white knit henley shirt. He shoved back the long sleeves—left the button placket open. After the assembly, he’d stayed behind to field questions and grab a late bite with the teachers in the cafeteria, but he thought the workshop had gone well. Hopefully when the kids headed to the local woods and parks in a few days, they’d be armed with enough information on poisonous snakes and other dangers to make theirs a safe, enjoyable summer.

Too bothered by the quiet, he returned to his office and checked his messages. There was a thank you from the school’s principal and a reminder of an upcoming meeting from regional, but that was it. Not even an update from his mom on Julie’s condition. He stood there for a moment, then frowning, strode to his screened-in back porch, filled a bucket with sunflower seeds and topped off his bird feeders.

His restlessness remained. He missed the sound of voices. That hadn’t been the case for a long time. He’d preferred the quiet while he was purging Heather from his system and trying to find some balance in his life. But now … now the silence was just one more reminder that he was alone. Scowling, he took the empty bucket and scoop back to the porch. Then against every recent promise he’d made to himself, he took that mile-long walk to the campground. A romance was out, but they could still be friends.

Moth to a flame, a tiny voice chanted. Moth to a flame.

“Not this time,” Jake murmured.

*  *  *

Jake’s senses went on full alert as he approached the camp store and heard high-pitched shouting coming from inside. Then Tammy Reston burst through the screen door and headed for her idling black truck, her tears failing to douse the fire in her eyes. Rachel rushed out behind her, and Jake moved from a walk to a jog. What was going on?

“Tammy, wait!” Rachel cried. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

Tammy whirled on her. “Are you blind? No, I’m not okay. Now leave me alone!” Her voice rose. “And find someone else to bake your pies!”

Jake tried to stop her. It was a mistake for her to drive when she was this upset. “Tammy, wait.”

“No! Get out of my way or I’ll have you charged with unlawful detention!” Straining the seams of her camouflage skirt, she swung into her ride and revved the engine, then spoke through the open window. “Watch your step, Jake. She’ll chew you up and spit you out, too.” Then she punched the gas and roared up the winding drive to the state route.

Jake turned to look at Rachel. She was leaning in defeat against the screen door, tears streaming down her cheeks. Beside her, Maggie whined softly and nudged Rachel’s limp hand.

He crossed the driveway to her. Difficult as it was, he resisted the urge to take her in his arms. That had to be over. “Want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head no. “You’ll hate me. I did something horrible. Something that can’t be fixed.”

“Come on,” he said, easing her away from the door. “I’m not going to hate you, and it can’t be that bad.”
He ushered her inside, waited until she’d settled at the counter, then filled a glass with water from the tap and set it beside her. “What happened?”

Rachel took a napkin from the dispenser on the counter, blew her nose, then stuffed it in her jeans pocket. “Joe Reston didn’t do it.”