The Chilling Deception (10 page)

“Ah, well. It was an interesting idea. What could we have done even if we’d decided he was Gannon?”

Zac’s mouth crooked. “Not much. It would have been one more reason for staying out of Hopalong Cassidy’s way.”

“Because it would have meant Vandyke and Gannon had decided to go back into business together?”

“Mmm. And that Cassidy has probably set them both up for a fall.”

“Now what do we conclude? That Cassidy has probably set up just our client?” Guinevere downed the rest of her coffee, aware of a deep feeling of anger. “I think we should have warned Vandyke.”

Zac did a short staccato drumroll with his fingers on the table. “If the guy’s running drugs, Gwen . . .”

“I know. But I don’t think he is. He just isn’t the type.”

“Gwen—”

“I
know
he isn’t. His wife is too nice and he’s too worried about saving their relationship. A drug runner wouldn’t give a damn about that sort of thing, would he? He’d just replace the wife with a cute teenybopper or something.”

Zac’s brows shot upward. “No kidding?”

“I’m serious, Zac.”

He sighed. “So am I.”

“So what do we do?” she asked challengingly.

Zac did the drumroll with his left hand. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night.”

Guinevere felt a spark of hope. “Let’s go back and talk to him, Zac.”

“We’re halfway to Anacortes. It will take us another hour to get there and then nearly two hours to get back on the next ferry.”

“We’ll call him from Anacortes.”

“Gwen, I’m not sure he wants our help. That’s what’s worrying me. I get the distinct impression the guy wants us to back off.”

“We have to tell him about Cassidy,” Guinevere said with grave resolution. “We owe our client that much, Zac.”

Zac groaned and surrendered. “Okay. I’ll call him when we reach Anacortes.”

But an hour later when they drove off the ferry in Anacortes and found a telephone, the Good Samaritan project went down the tubes.

“There’s no answer, and the front desk says they tried a page.” Zac stepped out of the phone booth.

“Then we’ll have to get right back on that ferry,” Guinevere announced, feeling committed now.

“It would make more sense to try phoning every half hour,” Zac pointed out.

“I think we should go back.” She faced him determinedly. “I want to talk to him in person.”

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Zac murmured.

The return trip seemed to take forever, but three and a half hours after they had left the island Zac was driving the Buick back off the ferry. He took the first turn to the left and started toward the resort. He had said very little during the return trip, but he did glance casually at the marina as they drove past the dock where Cassidy kept his plane.

“The Cessna’s gone.”

Guinevere peered out the window. “What do you suppose that means?”

Zac abruptly increased the speed of the Buick, saying nothing.

By the time he finally parked in front of the resort Guinevere was more than uneasy, she was downright nervous. Zac quietly reached out and took her hand as they walked into the lobby.

“Hey, settle down. It’s going to be okay. We’ll deliver our grand message and then leave. We’ll have done our duty by our client.”

“I’m worried, Zac.”

“So am I,” he admitted. He released her hand and headed for the front desk. The clerk looked up in surprise.

“Oh, Mr. Justis. I thought you’d checked out this morning.”

“I did. I’m back. I’m trying to locate Mr. Vandyke. Have you seen him this morning?”

The clerk nodded. “A couple of hours ago. He checked out too.”

“Did he?” Zac leaned forward, his hands on the polished countertop. “Did he sign the bill?”

“Well, not exactly. Mr. Springer checked out for both Mr. Washburn and Mr. Vandyke.”

“They left a couple hours ago? That wouldn’t mesh with any of the ferry schedules.”

The clerk was looking increasingly confused. “I believe Mr. Springer said that Washburn and Vandyke were in a hurry to get back to the mainland. They were going to hire a charter flight.”

“Really? And what did Vandyke intend to do with his car?”

Confusion turned to nervousness mingled with belligerence on the clerk’s face. Zac’s relentless, undiplomatic approach was beginning to have its usual effect, and Guinevere decided she’d better step in. Smiling brilliantly she went to the counter.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” she advised the clerk. He blinked warily. “He gets a little overbearing at times. We’re trying to find Mr. Vandyke because something very crucial has arisen. A business matter. It’s imperative that we find him. You say he and Washburn intended to fly out this morning?”

“That’s what Mr. Springer said.” The clerk kept an eye on Zac, who was still glaring at him.

“Then I guess we’ve missed him.” Guinevere turned away from the desk. “Thanks for your help,” she added over her shoulder, making a grab for Zac’s arm and leading him out of earshot. “So much for that. There’s no sense hounding him, Zac. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Vandyke told us he doesn’t fly in small planes anymore,” Zac said, looking down at her.

“I remember,” Guinevere whispered.

“But the clerk thinks he hired a plane with Washburn this morning,” Zac continued flatly.

“And Cassidy’s plane is gone.” Guinevere twisted her hands together as she wandered over to stand in front of the lobby fireplace. Zac followed slowly. A few other guests were lounging in chairs, reading and sipping coffee. It was a warm and peaceful winter scene, but Guinevere did not feel at all peaceful. “If Cassidy has moved in on our client already,” she murmured, “would he have flown Vandyke someplace after arresting him? Wouldn’t he have called in the local authorities?”

“Who the hell knows. Cassidy seems like the independent type. Not an overly cooperative sort. He’d want the excitement and glory of the kill.” Zac rested a hand on Guinevere’s shoulder as he stood staring down into the fire. “But he’d probably dump Vandyke into the laps of the local cops. The lion bringing in his prey so that everyone could admire him. He’d just want to be certain he got all the credit.”

Guinevere slanted a curious glance at Zac. “You don’t think much of Cassidy, do you?”

“He’s a hot dog.” Zac moved abruptly, taking Guinevere by surprise. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the marina. I want to have a look in that boathouse. If Cassidy’s got his plane in the air this should be a good time to have another look around.”

“But, Zac—” Guinevere began, but stopped as she noticed the clerk at the front desk signaling her. He had a phone in one hand and he was beckoning her with the other. “Miss Jones?”

Hastily Guinevere went forward. “What is it? Is that Vandyke on the line?”

Holding his palm over the receiver, the clerk shook his head. He looked anxious. “Mrs. Vandyke. She insists on speaking to her husband. I’ve told her he’s gone, but she says—”

“I’ll talk to her.” Guinevere took the phone. “Mrs. Vandyke? This is Guinevere Jones, the temporary secretary your husband hired this past week. I spoke to you briefly on the phone on a couple of occasions.”

“Yes, Miss Jones, I remember. Where is my husband?” The woman’s voice was laced with concern. She sounded tired and more than a little scared.

“I’m trying to locate him myself. The front desk says he hired a plane this morning to take him back to Seattle.”

Catherine Vandyke jumped on that announcement. “A plane? What sort of plane?”

Guinevere took a breath, her eyes meeting Zac’s intent gaze. “A small plane, we think. Perhaps a Cessna One Eighty-five.”

“That’s impossible. My husband would never set foot in such a small plane. He hates them. Used to fly them, you know.”

“I believe he did say something about it once.”

“Well, he doesn’t fly in them anymore. He must be around there someplace, Miss Jones. Please find him. Besides, he couldn’t want to fly back to Seattle. What would he do with the Mercedes? He told me he was taking the ferry to the San Juans.”

“Yes, Mrs. Vandyke, he did. Listen, I wonder if you could tell me—” Guinevere broke off in surprise as the phone was deftly removed from her hand.

Zac held the receiver to his ear, one hand braced against the desk. “Mrs. Vandyke, this is Zachariah Justis. I’ve been employed by your husband for the past few days. He hired me to do some security consultation. . . . Yes, that’s right. . . . No, I don’t know why he would need someone like me. I do have a few hunches. I thought maybe you could tell me. . . . Are you absolutely certain your husband wouldn’t willingly fly in a small plane?” There was another pause while he got the short, apparently affirmative response. Zac drew a breath. “Okay, I’ve got a couple of questions. They’re going to seem a little off the wall, but if you’ll answer them I might have a shot at locating Vandyke.”

Guinevere stirred restlessly, frowning. She should probably be dealing with the woman, she decided. Zac could be so heavy-handed at times.

“Were you married to your husband when he had that charter operation down in the Caribbean, Mrs. Vandyke? . . . I see. Do you remember his partner, a man named Gannon?” Zac listened for a moment and then held the phone away from his ear. Helplessly he held it out to Guinevere. “She’s gone hysterical on me.”

Guinevere took the phone. On the other end Catherine Vandyke was in pieces. There were tears and fury in her voice. “What are you talking about? How do you know about Gannon? This is ridiculous. I insist you put my husband on the phone, or I’ll call the police. Do you hear me?”

“Mrs. Vandyke, this is Guinevere again. Please listen to me. Zac is only trying to help. We know your husband is in trouble, but we don’t know what kind.”

“But he can’t be in trouble,” the other woman wailed. “Gannon’s dead. He’s been dead all these years.”

“We have reason to think he might be alive. If he were alive, Mrs. Vandyke, would he be a threat to your husband?” Guinevere looked at Zac to see if she was asking the right questions. Zac was furiously scribbling a note on a pad of hotel paper.

“Oh, God, I don’t even want to think about it.” Mrs. Vandyke sounded terrified now.

“Listen to me, Mrs. Vandyke. You’ve got to think about it. You’ve got to help us, or your husband might wind up in real trouble. Zac can help him. It’s his business. But he needs some answers. Please tell me about Gannon.”

There was a sob on the other end of the line, and then Mrs. Vandyke caught her breath. Guinevere could almost see her pulling herself together, rallying to meet the crisis.

“Gannon was my husband’s partner.”

“We know that much.”

“He . . . he used to claim he loved me.”

Guinevere said nothing, listening to her strengthening voice.

“That was a long time ago,” Mrs. Vandyke whispered. “We were all much younger then. More reckless. More adventurous. But Gannon was more than that. He was—well, wild in some ways. Always living an adventure. Bigger than life. He thrived on danger and excitement. And he thought he was irresistible where women were concerned.”

“I understand,” Guinevere said softly.

“He never could see why I preferred Edward. Edward was the businessman of the two. The one who kept the records, got the contracts, met the schedules. Gannon took the chances. Edward was quieter. And I knew Edward loved me. A woman could never be first in Gannon’s life. Do you know what I mean, Miss Jones? Gannon would always put himself and his need for adventure first. And he could be vicious.”

Guinevere felt herself grow suddenly cold. “Vicious?”

“I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone else, Miss Jones. The truth is, the day I learned Gannon had gone down I felt an indescribable relief. He had been so angry the day he left. Edward and I had just decided to get married, and we made the announcement the night before Gannon’s last flight. I’ll never forget the way Gannon stormed out of the little restaurant where we’d all gone for dinner. Early the next morning before he left he found me. I worked in a little boutique there on Saint Thomas. He walked into the shop, dragged me out from behind the counter, and told me that when he got back things were going to be different. He swore I was going to marry him, not Edward, and he’d make sure of it, regardless of who got in the way. I was scared, Miss Jones. There was something in his eyes that morning. I knew he wasn’t really so madly in love with me that he couldn’t bear to think of me marrying another man. It was his damn pride that was hurt. Gannon was so . . . so supremely . . . what do they call it these days?”

“Macho.” Guinevere shuddered. The picture forming in her mind was not at all reassuring. She knew another man who fit Mrs. Vandyke’s image of the mysterious Gannon.

“Yes, macho. He frightened me that morning, Miss Jones. I began to worry about what he might do to Edward when he returned. But he never returned.”

“Mrs. Vandyke, how old would Gannon be now?” Guinevere read the question off of the notepad Zac was holding up in front of her. But she was very much afraid she already knew the answer.

“A few years younger than Edward. Midforties. Miss Jones, do you really think he—”

“Do you remember anything else about him? The color of his hair? His eyes?” Guinevere quickly scanned the other questions on the notepad. Zac was getting impatient but he didn’t try to yank the receiver away from her. “Did he have a limp?” she asked, reading the last scrawled question wonderingly.

“No limp,” Mrs. Vandyke said with certainty. “His hair was dark. Do you know something? I can’t remember the color of his eyes. It was a long time ago, Miss Jones. Mostly I remember my impression of him, a certain daredevil quality. A kind of boyish wickedness, except that I think it went deeper. He used to carry a gun. Claimed you never knew what you were going to get into. He kept it under the front seat of his plane—said it was his emergency backup. I sometimes wondered if he wasn’t carrying something else besides the regular cargo and passengers. But I was always afraid to ask.” Mrs. Vandyke hesitated before summing up Gannon. “He could have stepped out of a film. Do you know the type?”

“I think so, Mrs. Vandyke.” I’m very much afraid I know exactly the type, she thought as she glanced at the last note Zac had written.