SHADOW OVER CEDAR KEY (28 page)

Truck swung around to face the older man, close-set eyes ablaze. “Don’t figure on taking her off somewheres, like New York. Cara belongs in Cedar Key. We took her in. I been watching out for her ever since she was a shirt-tail young’un. Cara and me got an understanding. I got a fine business. She can have whatever she wants right here.”

Bullen shook his head, unperturbed, like a person watching an exotic species. “I’m afraid we’ve made our plans, but since you’re a friend of hers, you must join us for dinner. My daughter will bring Mrs. Waters, and my son will be here, too. About seven at the hotel, shall we say?” Bullen ignored Truck’s reddened face and looked at Brandy. “Will you be able to drive us over to the motel? Perhaps Belinda—Cara.” again the bleak smile—”will be kind enough to bring us our suitcases.” He looked again at Cara. “It’s been an extraordinary day. We’ll have a real talk in private tomorrow.”

As the Bullens settled into her car’s rear seat, Brandy wondered if this man had any real emotions at all. Perhaps a lifetime of steely control had merely blunted their expression. But when he took out the monogrammed handkerchief again to wipe his forehead, his hand shook.

Brandy watched in the rear view mirror as he stared out at the deserted gazebo in City Park. “Belinda’s mother could’ve had any luxuries she wanted.” His voice softened. “The best of everything, the both of them. At home I protected her. She turned her back on it all. Chose to run off to the other end of nowhere, get picked up and bludgeoned to death in some cheap tourist cabin. I imagine she was meeting some man.” Then the bitterness seemed to drain from his voice. “Her daughter seems more reasonable.”

* * * *

When Brandy returned to the hotel, she met Detective Strong coming out of the sitting room between MacGill’s apartment and the lounge. He towered above her, a half-smile on his lips. “You’re a first class note taker. I expect you’re a good observer, too. Got a favor to ask.”

Brandy halted, surprised. But he had hinted he might need her.

“What I want you to do is this. I gotta question MacGill, and I don’t wanna take notes right in his face. A tape recorder makes a guy clam up.” He dropped his voice. “I got no deputy with me. I want you to sit quiet-like in a corner and write down what the guy says, how he acts. You know MacGill, and I don’t. You’re more likely to know if he’s telling the truth. Anyway, I need a witness.”

Brandy nodded, feeling bad for the Scotsman but good for the feature story she would eventually write.

“Likely I’ll carry him into Bronson for more questioning tomorrow, but he’ll talk better now, here in his own place.”

When Brandy returned with her notebook, Strong led her into the darkened sitting room and placed her in the shadow of a tall Japanese screen. “We won’t try to fool the guy. He’ll know you’re here, but I hope he’ll forget about you.” He hesitated. “Guess I could tell you the latest development. I had a call from Dixie County. They’ve finished going over the houseboat. Moved it to a pier near Old Town. Bad thing is, the guy called Moose is dead. They found him in the river, shot. Best guess is late morning or early afternoon.”

“No big surprise there,” Brandy said. “He’s got another partner, I figure, more dangerous than the marina owner. And the Shell Mound photograph?”

“Couldn’t find it. But they don’t think the killer did, either. Everything in the boat was a mess, like there’d been a right smart search.”

Brandy looked thoughtful. “Sounds like Moose got greedy. I heard him try to make his partner pay for the picture. He forgot he knew too much. Not too bright ofhim, but that was typical Moose behavior. He went ashore and left us alone on the boat. That’s how we got away.” Her mind raced back to the interior of the houseboat’s cabin. She would have to think of a place the deputies didn’t.

When MacGill appeared in his doorway, Strong explained that, for MacGill’s own protection, Brandy would make a record of the interview. Thrusting out his lower lip, MacGill gave Brandy a long look, then seemed to accept her role. He sat down, rigid, crossed his legs, and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re a canny lad, Detective Strong. Shouldn’t I have a lawyer?”

Strong leaned forward, his big hands relaxed between his knees. “Well, technically you could, but I don’t suppose there’s anyone handy now in Cedar Key. You’ve got nothing to hide, and this is just a preliminary talk, sir, very informal.”

MacGill kept his arms folded, but after a few seconds, he nodded.

The detective began by complimenting the proprietor on his civic pride, the work he’d done on the hotel, his reputation for helping people. Gradually the Scotsman’s arms dropped to his lap, his tension faded.

Strong went on in a calm voice. MacGill’s testimony was valuable, he’d be better off telling everything he knew about the Bullen case. MacGill tilted his head, wary.

“We think you can help us with Allison Bullen’s disappearance,” Strong said, his voice earnest. “I looked at the report the officers made at the time. That cashier gave them the names of everyone she saw in the restaurant that night. It’s a pretty long list, but your name’s on it.”

MacGill started. “That proves nothing. Before the storm, mind, lots of people were there. Truck Thompson, for one.”

Strong smiled agreeably. “A wild kid then. The cashier said he got gas that night. But you’re more the kind wants to help someone. A woman with a little child, frightened and caught in a storm.”

When MacGill looked down, Strong pursued. “And you with some empty beach cottages. Everyone gone because of the hurricane warning. Most natural thing in the world. You gave her a lift, put her up for the night free.” Strong shook his head in admiration. “The good Samaritan.”

MacGill stared at the floor.

“’Course, something unexpected coulda happened. We found the fabric from the cottages with the woman’s bones. We got folks say it’s the kinda bedspread the housekeeper used on the couches. Got the remains of a big old flashlight like the ones in each cottage.” He sighed. “I been in touch with Allison Bullen’s uncle. The bank just opened his wife’s safety deposit box. She died a few days ago. Can you think of any reason Allison Bullen would’ve sent a post card that said she was staying at your place?”

He paused and MacGill sat silent, head again tilted forward. At last he looked away; his shoulders slumped. Then he shifted his body and slapped one thigh. “She was helpless, scared to death. I should’ve told someone. I meant to help her and the wee bairn.”

Strong nodded sympathetically. “’Course you did. You probably never even knew her name.” His voice grew more intense. “But the medical examiner thought that big flashlight was the murder weapon. A misunderstanding between you, maybe? You never meant to hurt her.”

MacGill’s head shot up and he drew in his breath.

“You panicked. You thought no one would understand. You put her body in the cistern. Bought the hotel a few months later. No one the wiser. No need to explain. Even when the skeleton was found, no one knew who she was, and the kid had a good home.”

Strong raised his brows and shook his head. “Then after all these years. Rossi comes snooping around. He’s about to find out. Your reputation’s at stake.”

MacGill’s gray eyes widened and locked with Stong’s. “No! Not a bit of it!”

Strong held up his hand. “We got your gun, we got your spade. They were wiped, but the fingerprint guys think the new laser process will bring out latent prints.”

Again MacGill sagged in his chair. “I had a reason, mind.”

“Sure you did,” said the detective, his jaw firm.

MacGill looked up. “You don’t understand. I didn’t use any gun or do any digging.” He brought his hand down hard on his knee for emphasis. “Years ago, when I left that woman at the cottage, she was fit as a flea. When the storm got worse, I came back to take her to the school house. She was gone. So was the bairn. Blood all over the floor. Bedding gone. I ran to the school for help, and there’s my friend Mar-cia, full of herself, hugging that same little girl. Looked just like her own, everyone said, lost those twenty years. Marcia talked like the child was hers, brought back by the storm.”

His eyes misted. “What was a body to think? She drove past us when I took the woman and child to the cottage. Maybe when Marcia got caught in the hurricane, her memories flooded back. She might’ve lost it. Saw the woman with a bairn she thought was hers.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “Mind, I don’t know that she did it. I thought she might’ve. What good to tell someone? The bairn’s mother was surely dead.”

“So you dropped the body in the cistern?”

The Scotsman sat up straight. “I never saw a body, as God’s my witness.”

When Strong finally let a shaken MacGill go, and the hotel owner had dragged himself through the door into the lounge, Marcia was waiting for him. When she took his arm and led him to a table, Brandy heard her say, “You look like you could use a drink, a strong one.”

Brandy thought of the postcard Allison Bullen had mailed from Otter Creek, the one her uncle said his wife received in New York. “Lucky Mr. Grosmiller sent you that card,” she murmured to Strong from her chair beside the screen.

He flashed a wicked grin. “Look at the record. I never said what she wrote in the postcard. I asked if there was any reason the dead woman would say she stayed at his cottage. Come down to it, M’am, the man couldn’t find it.”

Brandy glanced down at her notebook. “Clever little trick. Anyway, you’ve established a possible scenario, but I’m not convinced you’ve proved it yet. Never mind MacGill’s gun. Remember, as yet no fingerprints. Almost anyone could’ve stolen it and hidden it in the basement.”

She ticked off the other candidates. “You’ve got a jealous boyfriend who didn’t want Cara identified. If she found her lost family, she would surely leave Cedar Key. Truck Thompson wasn’t too young to be involved in Allison Bullen’s death. We know as a younger man Thompson was rough on women. Maybe gave a pretty little woman a lift in the storm, and then thought she ought to return the favor. Maybe he got enraged when she wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be the first teenager to turn violent.

“You’ve also got a half-brother who has every reason not to want his half-sister and fellow heir discovered; and then there’s the devoted foster mother who treated the baby like her own lost child. MacGill suggested her motive. Maybe she killed the mother in a psychotic state, and now she’s trying to keep the grown child.”

Strong stood and stretched his long arms. “Don’t forget something, young lady—the perp’s got to be connected to a drug ring.” Frowning, he looked down at her. “Speculation’s fun, right enough, but the captain wants evidence.”

Brandy flipped back a few pages in her notebook and studied her scrawl. In a few minutes she brightened and looked up. “Something I’d written bothered me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I know what it is now.” She snapped the covers shut. “I think I know who killed Rossi, but I can’t prove it unless you help me.”

Hands on his hips, the detective thrust his head forward. “And how do you know?”

“Rossi told us,” she said.

CHAPTER 22
 

Brandy’s conference with the detective in the hotel sitting room took only a few minutes. Strong’s first reaction to her plan was scathing. “What you mean, girl, Rossi told us who killed him? Rossi didn’t tell us squat.”

Undeterred, she picked up her notebook and spoke with deliberation. “I’m almost sure he did. I can prove it. If you cooperate, we can nail Rossi’s killer tonight.”

Strong hesitated, doubtful, and scratched the back of his head. He’s trying to think of a way to let me down easy, Brandy thought. He knows I’m not worried enough about proper police procedure. She hurried on. “Say yes, and this evening will be the last time I meddle in either murder case. I promise.” That statement garnered his attention. He dropped his hand and straightened up, watching her like a skeptic watches a magician and his hat.

“I swear,” she said, “after tonight I’ll disappear until your captain calls a press briefing. That’s the next time you’ll see me.” When his eyes brightened at the prospect, she seized her advantage. “If my plan works, even if I’m wrong about Rossi’s killer, you’ll still bag the one who’s guilty.”

The detective visibly weakened. Brandy pressed on. “It can’t do any harm to try. You didn’t mind fooling MacGill. This won’t be that different. Look, tonight you’ve got the perfect opportunity. All the suspects will be at the same table. Just listen. You’re the main participant in the scheme. It’ll be a law enforcement operation.”

Her promise to stay out of the Sheriff s Office business, she thought afterward, and not her logic finally convinced him. For several minutes Strong listened to the plan, raised a few half-hearted objections, and then capitulated.

“I’ve got to make a call to Dixie County, you understand,” he said at last. “Got to have their cooperation, and at the last minute. Give me two hours to get my ducks in a row.”

She shook her head. “An hour and a half max. The Bullen dinner won’t last long. MacGill was whacked out after the grilling, but he’ll recover fast if he needs to. And remember, everyone’s got to believe you’re going back to Bronson tonight.”

The detective heaved a sigh and turned toward the door of the lounge. “Better hustle, then. I missed my kid’s Little League game last Saturday, thanks to this case. I can say I’m not going to miss another tonight.” He gave her a rueful glance. “Even though I will.”

Brandy remembered something Marcia had told her about her expeditions in nature photography, something that would help Brandy’s scheme. “Before you leave town, I need to give you something you can signal me with. I can get it from Cara.”

While Strong left to find a secure phone, she rushed to call Cara before she and Marcia left their house. “Cara, I haven’t time to explain, but I need the audio tape you and Marcia made of the Great Horned Owl. Can you slip it to me before dinner?” Cara’s puzzled tone implied Brandy had finally gone around the bend, but she could deny Brandy nothing. “I’ll bring it,” she said.

“Don’t tell Marcia.”

Brandy had still not seen MacGill. She would catch him or leave a message. A half an hour later, Strong and Brandy watched the Bullen party pull into the parking lot and enter the dining room to join Cara, Marcia, and Truck. Two small tables had been pushed together for the six members of the group. Mrs. Bullen had changed into a sleek, glittering bodice with an ankle length skirt. As Bullen pulled her chair out for her, Brandy heard him hiss, “You’re overdressed. If we weren’t staying at another hotel, I’d have you change. For God’s sake, this isn’t the Rainbow Room in New York.” His wife glanced down, for the moment embarrassed.