One Was a Soldier (37 page)

“And they let him go to a construction site in a war zone?” Clare’s voice carried all the disbelief his had when Knox and Flynn had reported in.

“That’s what I’m about to find out. I called the construction depot in Plattsburgh, but the guy there didn’t know anything except that the monthly flight to Iraq left yesterday evening. All the operations-level stuff is handled at headquarters. I’m headed for the Algonquin Waters to get the truth out of somebody.”

“I’m at the Stuyvesant Inn. I’ll meet you there.”

“No. Do
not
go to the resort. I don’t want you anywhere near there if you can help it.”

“Why were you calling about Nichols?”

He hissed frustration as he swung his squad car onto the Sacandaga Road. “Clare, I mean it. I don’t want you—”

“Oh, honestly, Russ, you’re not going up against a terrorist cell holding the hotel with guns and explosives. You’re going to ask the human resources manager if they authorized McNabb to get on their plane. I think I can survive the danger. I’ll see you over there.” She hung up.

He swore under his breath. The wedding, which she had just been complaining about, was in nine days. She was carrying her usual overfull schedule at St. Alban’s. On top of it all, he knew, despite her being less than forthcoming about therapy, that she was still struggling with her experiences in Iraq. So what does she do? Go chasing after Tally McNabb’s nonexistent killer.

He switched his light bar on and stepped on the gas when he hit the resort’s road, causing a car speeding down the mountain to brake hard enough to spew dirt and leaf mold into the air. He was going to have to lobby the aldermen to install a traffic light on the Sacandaga Road, or sooner or later there was going to be another fatality like this summer’s. Of course, the aldermen, who liked spending money as much as Clare liked sitting quietly at home, would make him choose: traffic control or a new officer’s position.

He saw Clare’s ratty old Jeep as soon as he drove into the parking lot. That was another thing on his list. The first weekend after they were married he was marching her over to Fort Henry Ford and buying her a reliable four-wheel drive with all-weather tires and side-door air bags.

She hopped out of her clunker when he got out of the cruiser. She tugged a wool cardigan over her clerical blouse. “So why were you calling me about Nichols?”

He zipped his jacket up. “I wanted to ask you if you had any idea where he might be. If he said anything to you. Why are you so keen on Wyler McNabb’s whereabouts?”

She looked up at him. “I told you. I think Tally McNabb was killed for a million dollars. I want to find out everything I can about the money, because if I know that, I’ll know who murdered her.”

It came to him as he spoke the words. “You know, distracting yourself by playing private eye won’t make the bad stuff in your head go away.”

She opened her mouth. Shut it. “Is that why you became an MP? Because focusing on other people’s problems helped you ignore your own?”

His breath hitched in his chest. Jesus. Sometimes she pulled truth out of him like a magician conjuring scarves. Then he saw her eyes, wide and white-edged, and realized she was feeling the same way he was right now. Because he had done the same thing to her. Truth for truth. He took her hand, holding her palm open as if he could see the future there. “You know what’s scary about being with you?”

She shook her head.

“There’s not anyplace to hide. For either of us.”

She smiled a little. “You chickening out?”

“Not a chance.” He started for the hotel’s entrance. She fell into step beside him.

“So,” she said. “Nichols.”

“I figure there are three possibilities behind McNabb’s disappearance. One, he really was shipped off to Iraq as a BWI contractor.”

“That sounds flat-out strange to me.”

“Yeah. Two, he told people he was going to Iraq on a job and skipped town for places unknown.”

“Let me guess the third. Nichols took him out in a bid to be the last man standing.”

“Like you said, a million bucks is a powerful incentive to murder.”

They thumped through one of the revolving doors and crossed to the gleaming reception desk. A cute young woman with dark hair perked up at them. “Welcome to the Algonquin Waters Spa and Resort, Reverend. Chief.”

Clare’s title was self-evident, but how had she known he was—he spotted her first name pinned to her chest. “Christy McAlistair,” he said.

“Yup. It’s Christy Stoner now, though.”

He knew Wayne and Mindy Stoner’s boy had gotten married between deployments, but he hadn’t put that fact together with the name on the Bain accident report. “How are you doing?” He glanced at her trim waistline. “Everything, uh, okay?”

“You mean after the accident? I’m fine. Zachary—our baby boy?—came early, but he was already almost six pounds, so my OB said it was probably just as well he was born at seven months.” She laughed. “Then—because the driver who caused the accident had been working up here?—Mr. Opperman offered me a job. Wasn’t that amazingly nice of him?”

Amazingly smart of him to avoid a lawsuit. Ellen Bain had been drinking at the lobby bar before taking her fatal drive.

“Zach and I are living with my parents while Ethan’s in Afghanistan, so everything I earn can go toward a down payment on a house when he gets out of the marines.”

“You’re Ethan Stoner’s wife.” Clare put the pieces together.

Christy’s eyes lit up. “Do you know Ethan?”

“We haven’t met, formally. I know of him.”

The girl laughed again. “Yeah, he was kind of wild when he was young. He’s settled down now.”

Clare glanced at him, and he knew just what she was thinking.
When he was
young?
For all that she was a wife and mother, Christy Stoner looked to him like she ought to be cheering on the Minutemen football team. God, he was old.

“Well.” The voice behind him was as smooth as a well-oiled gun. “What have we here? The Church and the State. Together.” Russ and Clare turned around. Opperman’s mouth curved up as he looked at them. “How unconstitutional.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Christy said. “I didn’t know you were waiting for them, Mr. Opperman.”

“That’s all right, Christy.” Opperman gestured toward the elevators. “My office is this way.”

Russ threw out his arm, blocking Clare’s way. He didn’t want her anywhere near the resort’s CEO. Irrational, but there it was. If he had kept Linda away from Opperman, she never would have gone to the Caribbean with the man, never would have been driving home from the resort in a blizzard, never would have died—and he never would have been marrying Clare, which brought him back to irrational. “We don’t need to take up your time,” he said. “I came here to speak to your HR director.”

Opperman gazed at him coolly. “It’s no bother. I should be able to answer anything you might ask her.”

“Look, I just need to know—”

“Let’s not keep our paying guests from the desk.” Opperman strolled across the expansive lobby toward a riverstone fireplace big enough to roast an ox in. The small fire burning in its center made it look like the entrance to a prehistoric cave. Opperman sat in one of a group of chairs clustered to the side of the hearth. He held out his hand toward the remaining chairs.

Russ grudgingly sat down. Clare settled beside him.

“You just need to know…” Opperman began.

“If Wyler McNabb was transferred to your operation in Iraq.”

“Yes. Employees working on the Provisional Authority contract are on a six-month cycle, six months in-country, six months at home. Wyler returned in mid-April, and so…” He spread his hands. His nails were clean and shining.

“Were you aware Wyler McNabb was out on bail?”

Opperman’s eyebrows went up. “I was not. What are the charges?”

“Resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.”

Opperman nodded. “Does he have a trial date?”

“Sometime in January.”

“We have a monthly flight to and from Balad Airport. If you let us know the exact date, I’ll have the crew supervisor make sure he’s on it in time to make his appearance.”

“Just like that.”

“Even highly skilled construction workers tend to be, shall we say, rough around the edges. This isn’t the first time one of my employees has been extra-jurisdiction, and it won’t be the last.” He placed his hands on the chair’s arms and prepared to rise. “If that’s all—”

“Were you aware McNabb was released from the hospital five days ago with several broken bones in his face?”

The hands relaxed. “I was not.”

Russ waited, but Opperman didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Don’t you have some sort of basic health requirement for your construction workers?”

“I’m moved by your concern, Chief Van Alstyne. Since you seem so much better informed than I, perhaps you can tell me how Wyler was injured.”

Russ tried to keep the tension out of his voice. “As I said, he assaulted an officer and resisted arrest.”

“And as a result, someone in your police department smashed his skull in?” Opperman shook his head. “Funny. You see it in the news, but you don’t expect something like that in a small town like Millers Kill.” He laced his fingers together and looked straight at Russ. “I hope this is an isolated incident of police brutality. The tourism-dependent businesses in this area can’t afford to have their customers frightened of the very men and women they rely on for protection.”

A scalding cloud of shame and rage surrounded Russ, burning his chest and face, tightening his throat. Clare laid her hand on his arm. “Mr. Opperman, have you met Lieutenant Colonel Seelye? She’s an Army CID investigator.”

Opperman blinked at her. Then looked at Russ. “Are you delegating your work to the clergy these days?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Clare said. “Have you met the colonel?”

“Yes.” Opperman’s voice was short. “I met with Arlene Seelye a day or two ago. She was investigating something to do with the unfortunate Tally McNabb, and she wanted to know what kind of employee Tally was.”

“All right. Thank you.” Clare got up. Russ frowned. He wasn’t certain what she had been after, but he stood with her.

Opperman rose as well. He smiled broadly. “I understand you two are planning to get married.” He captured Clare’s hand in both of his and raised it almost to his lips. “I imagine you’ll be a ravishing bride, Reverend.”

Russ balled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching over and tearing out Opperman’s throat. Clare snatched her hand away.

“I hope you’ll consider the Algonquin for your reception,” Opperman continued smoothly.

“We’ve already booked the Stuyvesant Inn.” Russ’s voice was harsh.

“Now that’s a shame.” Opperman looked at him regretfully. “You’re settling for second best.”

Clare went pale. Russ put his hand in the small of her back and steered her toward the hotel’s entrance. “Come back anytime,” Opperman called.

Walking out into the cold mountain air was like bathing in a clear, clean fountain after wading through muck. “Are you okay?” he said.

“Yeah.” She twitched her shoulders, a movement that became a full-body shiver.

“I’m sorry. God.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“He was playing you. When he almost kissed my hand? He was trying to stir you up.”

“It worked.” He kept his arm tight around her as they descended the steps to the parking lot.

“He knew about Wyler McNabb’s injuries. Before you told him. It’s unlocked,” she said to his outstretched hand.

He opened the Jeep’s door. “What makes you think that?”

She climbed into the driver’s seat and swiveled to face him. “He didn’t ask anything about Wyler’s condition, or about how you knew. The only thing he asked was the one thing guaranteed to embarrass you and throw you off balance.”

“Hmn.” He braced his arm on top of her door and leaned forward. “Why’d you ask him about Arlene Seelye?”

“She’s gone. I went to the Stuyvesant Inn to talk with her, and she had upped stakes. I wanted to know if she’d investigated Opperman first.”

“Gone? Huh. Although if she got a lead on Tally stashing the missing loot elsewhere, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to hang around. Especially at what the Stuyvesant charges for a room.”

“Do you think Opperman is involved? I mean, Wyler McNabb was working for him, then he hired Tally.”

“What, with the theft? I’d like to think so, because I can’t stand the smug sonofabitch. I believe right down to the bottom he got control of that company by killing off his partners.” He shook his head. “That was for high stakes. Huge money. To you and me and Tally, a million bucks would be life-changing, but to a guy like Opperman? It’s a couple months’ salary. Not worth the risk.”

“Shame.” She smiled a little. “He makes such a satisfying bad guy.”

“He is a bad guy. Just not the one we want.”

“Who is, then? Wyler McNabb? Are you going to try to get him back?”

“Extradite him from Iraq? Hell, no. I can’t even
imagine
what kind of hoops I’d have to jump through for that.”

“Oh, come on. He’s got to be in on the theft.”

“Agreed. Unfortunately, it’s not my case. It’s the army’s. If Seelye wants him, she can try to reel him in. He’s left town, and she’s left town, and if there’s a merciful God—”

“There is.”

He smiled at her. “Then Quentan Nichols will also have left town. Let ’em all chase their money somewhere else. We’ve got more important things to do.” He kissed her, slow and easy, an apology for mixing her up in this business. Pulled away and looked at her, her lips parted, her eyes half closed. He kissed her again, harder, wrapping one hand around the back of her head, the other tracing the barrier of her collar until he found the tiny button in the back. He twisted, tugged, and her neck was bare.

“Smooth,” she gasped, as he put his teeth and tongue to her throat. The sound she made jacked him up even higher. Beneath his coat, she clutched at his shoulders, his chest, his sides. Even through his uniform blouse and undershirt, the bite of her fingers into his muscles sent electric jolts skittering over his skin. She took hold of his rig, pulling him closer, rattling the baton, clinking the magazine pouch.