Wanted Woman Read online

  Chapter Six

  Detective Rupert Blackmore left the crime scene trying not to panic. Margaret Randolph’s body hadn’t floated up and now he knew it wouldn’t.

  Williams had informed him that a fire alarm had been set off at a café a quarter mile downstream. A false alarm. Not just that, the owner of the café had told Williams that the place had been broken into, there were drops of blood on the floor and someone had used the first aid kit kept behind the counter.

  After Rupert had shot them both, he’d waited in the fog for the bodies to float ashore. Waited until he heard the fire trucks and saw the flashing lights a quarter mile down the water at some wharfside café. He hadn’t put it together then because he’d been so sure they were dead.

  Hell, she’d gone down with the geek and she’d been hit. Even if the bullets hadn’t killed her, the fall and the cold churning water would have, his mind argued. But the fog had been too damned thick to tell if she’d surfaced.

  He reminded himself that she’d had on all leather. It would have acted like a wetsuit. And the woman was an athlete.

  Rupert knew it was time to quit lying to himself. Margaret Randolph’s body wasn’t going to float up. Worse, he couldn’t forget those last few moments on the pier when she’d looked up at him. Recognized him.

  He sat down at his desk and began to fish around in the top drawer for some Tums. His stomach was killing him.

  He’d made the mistake of keeping an eye on her over the years. It was crazy, but he felt like she was his kid. Like he’d been the one to give her life. Hell, he had. If he’d done what he’d been paid to do, she would have died as a baby and been buried up in the mountains.

  Is that why he’d blown it at the pier?

  But if she was alive, then why hadn’t she contacted his superiors? Or the Feds? If she was alive, wouldn’t she tell someone what she knew?

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught the flashing icon on his computer screen. His gaze jerked to it and he felt his heart take off like a thief.

  He shot a quick glance behind him and saw that Williams was on the phone with someone and paying no attention. Hands shaking, he clicked on the icon and tried to catch his breath.

  As the inquiry came up, his chest ached as if he’d been shot and for a moment he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Funny, but he didn’t even mind the thought of falling over dead at his desk. At least he didn’t mind for those first few seconds. A heart attack seemed a better way out than any of the other alternatives right now.

  But then he caught his breath, regained his senses, felt that primal survival instinct kick in. He wasn’t ready to go out feet first. Hell, if he could weather this storm, he would retire like Teresa had been trying to get him to do. And he’d buy that damned RV she had her heart set on and the two of them would head south. No more rainy winters in the Northwest. They’d go to Arizona and he’d sit in the sun by the pool. Hell, yes. Maybe he’d take up shuffleboard or bingo. Why not?

  He deleted the information on the screen, grabbed his coat and left the police station, driving around aimlessly, trying to think.

  He’d tagged inquiries about Margaret Randolph only so he’d know firsthand when any evidence surfaced. He’d never dreamed he’d get a hit from some hick sheriff’s department. And in Timber Falls, Oregon, of all places. Margaret Randolph’s motorcycle tags had been run along with a check for any outstanding warrants on her. What the hell? Did that mean what he feared it did?

  He tried to convince himself that someone else had her bike. Maybe had stolen it since he hadn’t been able to find the bike after he’d seen her go off the end of the pier and into the icy, churning water below. She’d been wearing her biker outfit so he’d known she’d come by bike. He’d looked for it but was forced to leave for fear of being seen by emergency personnel. Her bike must have been hidden.

  So where the hell was it now?

  In Timber Falls, Oregon.

  And how had it gotten there?

  If Margaret Randolph had been riding it then…Hell, then she knew. Norman Drake must have overheard more than Rupert thought he did. Damn. If only he’d gotten to Norman Drake sooner. If only…

  He pulled the car over, his hands still shaking, and waited for his heart rate to return to normal, knowing it wouldn’t until he found her and finished the job.

  Maybe her bike had been stolen though. Maybe her body would wash up.

  His cell phone rang as if on cue. He fumbled it open, his pulse a deafening pounding in his ears. “Blackmore.”

  “It’s Williams. The boys are done. It’s raining and they haven’t found anything else. You want me to leave a man down there? I’m not sure what else you were hoping we would find.”

  Another damned body. But then he couldn’t very well tell Williams that, could he? “Tell them to pack it in. Listen, I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Ulcers again?”

  “Goes with the job,” he said. “I’m thinking I might take a day or two of sick pay. If there’s anything new on the Iverson and Drake homicides just call me on my cell.”

  “Hope you get to feeling better,” Williams said, but Rupert could hear his relief. The fool thought he could solve both cases and make a name for himself with the guys upstairs in the next forty-eight hours.

  Down the block Rupert spotted a phone booth. He didn’t want to use the company cell for this call. He parked, got out and ran through the pouring rain. He was soaked to the skin and breathing hard from the exertion by the time he ducked inside the booth. He promised himself he’d get in shape once he got to Arizona.

  He dug out a handful of coins from his pocket, dialed the long-distance number and listened to it ring twice as he lit a cigarette and tried to calm down.

  “Hello.”

  Teresa’s voice brought tears to his eyes. He wiped at them with the back of his hand. “Hey, baby,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

  “Is everything all right?” He could hear the worry in her tone. She knew him too well. But she didn’t know the half of it. And he would die before he’d let her find out.

  “I’ve got to go out of town for a couple of days on a case,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry about me if you called the house. How’s your mom?”

  “Better. She says to tell her favorite son-in-law hello.”

  It was an old joke between the three of them. “If I see him, I will.”

  Teresa laughed as she always did. “I miss you.”

  “Me, too.” He could feel himself getting choked up again. He wished they’d had kids. Wished to hell he’d retired last year. Wished they were in Arizona right now.

  But even as he thought it, he knew this wasn’t something he could have avoided. Not even in Arizona.

  “I’ll call you when I finish this job,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You take care of yourself, you hear?” It was what she always said.

  “For you,” he answered as he always did. He started to tell her he’d decided to retire. That they would buy that RV she liked as soon as she got back from her mother’s so it would be all ready for them to go south at the first drop of rain next fall, but she’d already hung up.

  As he put the receiver back and stood staring out through the soiled glass at the driving rain, Rupert realized what else had been bothering him.

  The officer in Timber Falls who’d made the inquiry about Margaret Randolph hadn’t called him. Why, when the hick cop had to have seen the message that he was to notify Detective Rupert Blackmore immediately?

  He swore under his breath. He was sweating profusely even with the rain hammering the phone booth and a cold wet wind blowing up under the door.

  He wasn’t spending his golden years behind bars with criminals he’d put there. But he doubted that was even an option. If the person who’d hired him all those years ago found out who Margaret Randolph really was, then it would be clear that he hadn’t killed her twenty-s
even years ago. That he’d sold her instead and pocketed the cash. And then he’d be a dead man.

  He watched the rain drum the glass of the phone booth without even hearing it or feeling the cold or the damp. After a few minutes, he started to breathe a little easier. He felt better. There was nothing like a plan.

  He was going to Timber Falls. He’d put an end to this mess once and for all.

  Pushing open the phone-booth door, he took a deep breath of the damp Seattle air and thought about Arizona.

  Hell, by this time next year he could have a tan.

  JESSE HAD JUST LOOKED UP from the computer when he caught a flash of color streak by on the street beyond his window. For just an instant, he thought it might be Maggie Randolph on that bike of hers.

  But as he peered out the window, he saw it was Desiree’s bright red sports car.

  “I’ll be a son of a—” He ran outside just as Desiree swung the car into Betty’s Café and came to a dust-whirling stop.

  He swore again and went after her.

  Desiree was already sitting in a booth when Jesse walked in. She groaned when she saw him coming toward her. At least she knew she was in trouble. That was a start. He went straight to her booth and slid in across from her.

  For a long moment, he just looked at her. She really was a pretty young woman, great bones, nice eyes. There was no denying that. But Desiree lacked something that the woman he’d met last night had in spades. Something beyond looks that had made her impossible to forget.

  “What?” Desiree asked peevishly.

  “I know your mother took the blame for you this morning,” he said quietly. She started to argue but he held up his hand. “You don’t learn. I just saw you speeding down Main Street. You’re going to kill someone. Or yourself.”

  “Are you going to write me a ticket?” she asked, as if bored with this particular lecture.

  “Desiree…”

  She smiled and leaned toward him. “Yes?”

  “Get a job. Do something with your life before it’s too late.” He couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth.

  Neither could she. “Jesse Tanner telling me to do something with my life?”

  He smiled then and shook his head. “I know I’m the last person who should be giving career advice since I’m just starting to get my act together and you’re six years younger than me.”

  “No kidding.”

  He tried another tack. “Is this about your father? Some sort of rebellion? Because if it is, I can relate.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him in warning. “Your father isn’t in jail.”

  “No, but I spent a few nights there as a juvenile and I can see a cell in your future if you don’t stop acting out.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m trying to cut you some slack here,” he said.

  “Don’t.”

  “Okay.” He pulled out his ticket book and wrote her up for speeding. He handed the ticket across the table to her as Desiree’s lunch arrived.

  She stuffed the ticket into her purse without looking at it, picked up a piece of bacon that had fallen out of her BLT and took a bite, licking her lips as her gaze met his. “You want a bite?”

  “No.”

  “Sure?” She cranked up the seduction, obviously in her comfort zone again.

  He got to his feet. He’d hoped maybe he could talk some sense into her. Or at least reach out to her in a brotherly sort of way. He felt like he owed her that for reasons he didn’t want to touch.

  As he left, he felt it again—something in the air. The way he could sense a storm coming. As if the atmosphere were electrically charged. He stopped to sniff the breeze, unable to shake the bad feeling he had. It was as if something was about to happen and nothing could stop it. Least of all Acting Deputy Jesse Tanner.

  “CHARITY, PUNCTUAL AS ALWAYS,” Lydia Abernathy called from the back as Charity walked through the door of the Busy Bee antique shop a few minutes later.

  Lydia smiled and waved from her wheelchair. She was a tiny woman, her hair a white downy halo around her head, her blue eyes bright. She looked older than Charity knew her to be. No doubt because of the accident that had severed her spinal cord and killed her beloved husband, Henry.

  It had happened thirty years ago, before Charity was born, but she remembered Florie telling her that Wade had been driving the car. Henry had died instantly, Lydia had ended up in a wheelchair and Wade had gotten off without a scratch.

  It was no secret that Wade felt responsible. He’d taken care of his sister for years, supporting her financially, opening the antique shop she’d always wanted and making sure she had live-in help.

  They were close in spite of the past. Although Lydia, like most siblings, did take perverse pleasure in her brother’s troubles. And Wade had his share right now.

  “I heard about your upcoming nuptials,” Lydia said as she moved her wheelchair over to the hot plate to collect the teapot. “I thought we’d celebrate with a cup of tea and a few of my sugar cookies.”

  “You know I can’t resist your sugar cookies,” Charity said with a groan. “The ones with the sprinkles on top?”

  Lydia beamed. “Of course. Angus insists I do too much. He says he’s taking over the baking.”

  Angus Smythe was Timber Falls’ version of an English butler. Silent unless spoken to, always painfully polite, and very protective and attentive of Lydia. Plus, he was from England and came complete with the accent. He’d been a close friend of both Lydia and Henry. He was obviously devoted to her.

  Charity dragged up a chair, glancing around the shop. The merchandise hardly ever changed. Lydia had collected pieces via the Internet but had marked them up so much they weren’t likely to sell. Charity suspected she just liked having pretty things around and wasn’t in the antique business to make money. Fortunately, she didn’t have to show a profit. She had her brother Wade when she needed money.

  “So when is the wedding?” Lydia asked, handing her a cup of tea, a sugar cookie lounging on the saucer next to it.

  Charity knew this wasn’t why Lydia had asked to see her. “June. Everyone in town will be invited. I’m just starting the planning.”

  The older woman nodded. “Henry and I had a lovely wedding.” Her eyes clouded over for a moment as if lost in memory. “Henry’s buried back East, you know, in the family plot. I will join him when the time comes. I only stayed out here to be close to Wade.” She grimaced. “Can you believe the mess he has himself in now? And all because he married beneath his class.”

  Lydia took a sip of her tea and settled the cup on the saucer. “I’ve never understood what he saw in that woman. I wish he’d had the sense to shoot her. That lie she told about him calling to say he was on his way to the house to kill her. What man would warn a stupid woman he was coming up to kill her? Although, Daisy could drive anyone to murder. Except Wade.” She made it sound like a flaw in her brother’s character.

  Charity took a bite of her cookie. Lydia did make the most amazing sugar cookies. “What is the flavoring you put in these?” she asked, wondering if this was why Lydia had called her, to talk about Wade.

  “It’s my secret ingredient.” Lydia took a sip of tea, then put down her cup, drawing herself up in the wheelchair. “I didn’t call you over to talk about Wade or that woman he married. I need a favor.”

  Uh-oh.

  Lydia leaned forward and whispered, “Have you seen that man Betty is with?”

  “Bruno?” Everyone in town was talking about him. Drove an old trashed-out car and warmed a barstool at the Duck-In bar when he wasn’t hanging out at Betty’s bumming free meals.

  “Bruno. Is that his name? Well, I’ve noticed him walking by the shop and looking in as if he were casing the joint,” Lydia said.

  Casing the joint?

  “What do you know about him?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Charity was still trying to imagine Bruno “casing” the antique store. Sure, there were some valuable pie
ces and some small collectibles but she doubted Bruno would know the good stuff from the junk. And if he stole a pricey ornate oak buffet, how would he carry it? On his back? It certainly wouldn’t fit in that old car of his.

  “I want you to find out everything you can about him,” Lydia said, glancing toward the front window.

  Charity knew her shock must have shown. The Busy Bee was anything but busy this time of year and as far as Charity knew, Lydia never had more than a little cash in the till. Most people paid with credit cards or checks and that was when there was actually a customer. “I really don’t—” Charity hedged.

  “There he is,” Lydia whispered.

  Charity turned in time to see Bruno walk by. He was a large, not bad-looking man, with a thick head of shaggy blond hair. Bruno looked to be in his forties—a good ten years younger than Betty. Just the way she liked them.

  “If you really think he’s planning to rob you, shouldn’t you talk to Jesse?” Charity suggested. “He’s filling in as deputy until Mitch is well enough to go back to work.”

  Lydia was shaking her head. “I would look like a silly old woman crying wolf. No, I need to know more about him before I say anything to anyone but you. You’re the one with the talent for finding out everything about everyone.”

  Compliments worked every time. “Okay, I could do some checking on him,” Charity said.

  “Good,” Lydia said, sounding relieved. “He…scares me.”

  “Angus would never let anything happen to you.”

  “Angus is a dear but he is no spring chicken,” Lydia said.

  Angus still looked plenty capable of protecting his mistress. He had always been a large, muscular man and he’d stayed in shape, which made him seem younger than his sixtysomething years.

  “I also have my own pistol in my nightstand,” Lydia added with a glint in her eyes. “A woman can’t be too careful. Especially one with my…disabilities.”

  There was a sound behind them on the back stairs, a door opening, footfalls as someone came down the steps toward them. It had to be Angus. He never used the elevator Wade had put in for Lydia.