A Truth for a Truth (34 page)

Hildy.

Had she arrived here, been scared off, and was now hiding somewhere outside, waiting for the right moment to sprint to her car and make a clean getaway? Did Hildy sprint?

“Hildy?” Not a whisper and not a shout, but if she was here, she would hear me. “Come out right now. You’ve got to leave. This is a job for the police.”

A clock ticked somewhere by the sofa as answer. I noted that there was light after all, a faint red dot at the bottom of the computer monitor. And below the desk, a power strip with a glowing switch that indicated it was on and working. I figured what the heck and switched on my flashlight, training it on the floor as I moved forward.

That was the moment I realized somebody
had
been here, even if they weren’t here any longer. All I had needed for the discovery was a thin beam of light. Several file drawers weren’t closed all the way, and one stood completely open, files exposed. Under that drawer, several manila folders lay facedown, contents fanning out on the floor. I moved closer and thanks to my light, didn’t trip over a straight-back chair lying on its side near the desk.

When I saw the lamp lying across the mouse pad, I knew we were in trouble. I hoped seven and a half minutes had passed, and Lucy had called her police chief amour. We were going to need him.

I was turning back toward the door, when to my absolute horror, I saw it swinging into the room. I switched off my light and scurried toward the wall before the intruder got in. As I did, my mind searched feverishly, hoping I would remember something that could be used as a weapon.

“Aggie!”

My throat was too dry to do anything but croak. “You were supposed to stay with the car!”

Lucy came all the way inside. “I turned around and went back a little way up the drive to prepare, and I saw a light on the water. Moving out into the lake.”

For a moment this didn’t compute. “Light?”

“It has to be a boat, but I didn’t hear a motor.”

Geoff’s silent boat, his hobby boat, the one he’d built himself.

For just an instant I wondered if Hildy had taken the boat out. But, of course, there would be no point to that. Unfortunately, there
was
a point to having her on board as a passenger. An unwilling passenger for a one-way voyage to the middle of the lake.

“There’s been a struggle here,” I said. “Somebody caught up with her.”

“Do you think . . .”

“Yeah, I do. Let’s get down there.”

I switched on the flashlight, because I was almost sure our reason for stealth had just left the dock.

We hurried to the door, the thin beam lighting the way. I considered throwing the switch lighting the office and the grounds outside it. Would Geoff see the lights, know we’d caught up with him, and another murder was fruitless? Or would the lights make him hurry even faster? It’s not that easy to think like a murderer, and I decided not to take a chance he’d feel compelled to cover his tracks.

“Do you think she’s alive?” Lucy asked as we jogged toward her car.

“I don’t want to think. You called the chief?”

“Sorry, but yes, I got spooked.”

“Good thing. We’ll need help.” I flung open the passenger door, and Lucy jumped into the driver’s seat. In a moment she was barreling down the driveway, lights on. Case closed on whether to let Geoff or whoever was out on the lake know that we were on the way.

Whoever was out on the lake. Something nagged at me.

“Lucy, why would Geoff take Hildy out into the lake and drown her? By now Hildy must have told him I was on to him. Wouldn’t he at most tie her up, so he could get a head start out of town?”

“Maybe he’s just going to kill her to buy time. More permanent.”

“No, that just doesn’t work. He has to know they’ll drag the lake if she disappears. Besides, Hildy said he was heading to another drugstore, and both this store and that one confirmed it.”

“So, he lied.”

“No . . . no, he’s a very precise, organized businessman. If he changed his mind on the way, he would have called the store to tell them, and they would have told Hildy. No, this feels personal, Luce. He’s practical and methodical, and killing Hildy at this point is neither. And that call from Roussos just now? I expected him to tell me that Geoff phoned the Dorchesters’ house during the party from his cell phone, so Hildy would go into the hallway just in time to see her husband and Marie together. But he wasn’t the one who called the house. Somebody else did, a woman who wasn’t even at the party. I thought he was buying himself time to poison the dip while Hildy was spying on Marie and Win, but maybe somebody had already poisoned it. Maybe somebody did it between the time the caterer left and Marie met Win outside.”

“You’re not making sense. Then who’s got Hildy out there?”

I continued to put facts together out loud. “There was no car parked in front of this house when we pulled in, the way there would be if Geoff had changed his mind, headed home, driven up, and realized Hildy was in the office.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“Let’s say Geoff pulls in and either sees Hildy’s car or lights in the office. Something to make him suspicious. We know
somebody
was suspicious because Hildy got caught. In that situation Geoff would never open his garage door to park inside before he went to check. That makes noise, and Hildy would have heard him and run. There was a struggle
inside
the office. No, for that to be true, he must have parked in the driveway or on the grass, gone around the office, and caught her red-handed. Only there’s no car in the driveway.”

“Maybe he reparked afterwards,
after
he grabbed her.”

“No time, and why? No, whoever has her must have been on the property already. They were here when Hildy arrived, only Hildy didn’t know it. Maybe she didn’t see lights, and that person’s car was in the garage. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. She knew Geoff was out of town.”

“Who, then?”

Who, then? But the answer was suddenly clear. The woman who had pawed through the coat closet right beside the kitchen door until Grace Forester had been forced to find her sweater. The woman who might even have heard Win, himself, tell Grace to save all the leftovers, particularly the shrimp dip. The woman who had probably gone out the front door, around the side to the kitchen, and waited near the door until she had the room to herself. Doctoring the dip would only have taken moments. And if she’d been caught? She’d needed a glass of water or almost anything else.

“Marie Grandower! Sometimes she house-sits for Geoff when he’s out of town. I upset her today. Maybe Geoff told her he was going to be away, and Marie figured she’d get away from what she called my pathetic questions. But I scared her. I must have scared her, and she came out here to avoid me while she figured out what to do.”

Lucy gave a low whistle. “Talk about personal.”

“She has every reason to want Hildy dead, not just detained while she escapes. She hates Hildy. Hildy was married to the man she loved.” A man she had murdered in a rage when he told her what they’d had together had been finished for many years. Or maybe something else entirely. Maybe just a man who had asked one too many questions about an old woman named Daisy Dreyfus.

Lucy was at the dock now. She hit the brakes, and we were both out in a flash. Just as she had reported, I saw a light disappearing farther and farther onto the lake.

“Where are the cops?” I demanded.

“The boat’s too far out to swim for it.”

For a moment I felt completely helpless. Then in the beam of Lucy’s headlights, trained on the water, I saw a possible solution.

“Not too far for a Jet Ski.” I started across the dock. Just as I remembered, there were two Jet Skis docked there, on ramps that extended out into the water. I prayed they weren’t secured with locks.

“I’ve never even been on one.” Lucy was right behind me. “I could learn.”

“Ever driven a motorcycle?”

“How do you know so much?”

“Florida vacation.”

I swung my feet over the side of the dock and jumped on the closest ramp. “Single passenger. Stay here, Luce, and don’t try to follow. They’re tricky, and
somebody
has to tell the cops what’s up. If help arrives in time, put somebody on the other one and send him out to help. Call everybody you can.”

I didn’t stay to see if she listened or agreed, or long enough to talk myself out of this. I slid the Jet Ski back until the rear was in the water and jumped on before it could float away.

I had made myself sound confident, but I was far from it. I’d ridden one of these monstrosities just once, and vowed never to repeat my performance. The whole experience had been too reminiscent of childhood journeys on my father’s Harley, only a whole lot wetter. And while I’d felt relatively safe with Ray Sloan’s muscular arms around me, by myself on the Jet Ski, I’d felt like diving off and taking my chances with sharks.

No sharks here, of course, but there was one too many murderers on Lake Parsons, which was worse.

I found the kill switch and the spiral loop that fit around my wrist. I was supposed to have a life jacket, but there was no time for that. Hildy certainly didn’t have one. If I rescued her and tossed Marie or whoever had Hildy overboard, then I’d don a life jacket from the boat’s supply.

I punched the ignition, but nothing happened. I remembered I had to activate the choke and found what I hoped was the right lever near the gas tank. Then holding my breath, I tried again to start the engine. I was glad this model didn’t have a key, which would surely not have been waiting in the ignition. The engine caught and I began to move slowly out into the water as I released the choke. So far so good. I turned the throttle and the Jet Ski leapt forward. I eased off immediately.

I was terrified.

The lake was dark; I could easily hit anything floating in my path and launch myself into the water, winter-tinged water that hadn’t had time or summer sunshine to warm it to a bearable temperature. I had so little to guide me, the faintest lights from the boat and no moon or stars in a sky filled with clouds. I just had a promise I’d made Hildy, and a simmering fury.

At that thought I increased my speed again. Well away from the dock now, I aimed my water-cycle toward the fading lights and turned the throttle even more.

I felt like I was flying, and not safely. The water was freezing cold and I was saturated almost immediately by spray pelting me. I thought I was eating up the distance between us, slower than I wanted to but steadily. I’d remembered how to board the Jet Ski, and get it moving. Now I was trying to remember what I’d learned about slowing down, crossing wakes, and yes, stopping. This was a craft without brakes. How did I pull up next to a boat without driving straight through it and sending all of us tumbling into the lake?

My bow was rising out of the water as my speed increased. My job was to gauge when to slow and when to stop turning the throttle completely. I remembered vaguely that I wouldn’t be able to turn unless I was giving the Jet Ski gas, that if I stopped the gas, it would just move forward. That didn’t sound good to me. I had to keep moving when I turned, then stop moving once I was beside the boat so I could jump on board, which meant I had to begin my maneuver just the right distance away.

What were the chances?

I concentrated on my speed, on watching the lights of the boat, on prayer. I was getting closer, but I wanted this over with. I throttled up, and the bow lifted higher. So did my prayers, at least I fervently hoped so.

Finally I was close enough to make out more than lights. I could see the boat now, with a fringed awning stretched on poles above it like a perky pleasure craft off on an afternoon outing. Lights glowed from the deck.

The boat was still putting along, and that was a positive. Marie hadn’t weighed anchor and added Hildy to the rope for extra heft. Maybe she’d been too busy trying to get away to worry about getting rid of her.

I was gaining steadily, and as the first waves from my Jet Ski began to pelt the side, the boat slowed considerably. I thought I saw a figure standing at the bow, a small, slender figure, not Geoff Adler, who had temporarily been my candidate for Emerald Springs’s serial killer of the month. A woman’s figure, and not solid, earthy Hildy’s. A woman who dieted and pampered herself and clothed her sleek body in Armani and diamonds. Marie Grandower, who had not taken her husband’s job—saving lives—nearly as seriously as Hildy had taken hers.

I let up on the throttle and slowed, hoping I was gauging correctly. I started my turn, but I wasn’t turning as fast as I’d expected. Shutting my eyes—my favorite option—wasn’t a good one. I turned the handles and leaned farther left. I knew this was the best way to fall off, had done so, in fact, in the warm summer waters off the coast of St. Petersburg. Getting on again had been a production and another reason I’d ruled out more of the same in my future.

I was turning faster now, and as I turned, I throttled down. I nearly swiped the side of the boat, which was rocking wildly, but I stopped just in time.

I cut the engine. “Where’s Hildy?”

Marie was facing me, barred from the edge by a cushioned bench that ran along the front and part of the side. I saw she was holding a gun, and now I knew why she’d cut her engine, too.

Gun. Why hadn’t I thought of a gun? Because none had been used in either murder? They were too personal, too immediate. She’d poisoned her ex-lover and hit an old woman with her car, leaving Ellen for dead on the road. But why hadn’t I considered how she’d gotten Hildy into the boat?

Because now I could see that Hildy
was
in the boat. Gagged and trussed from the knees up like a suckling pig and lying on the floor, feet flailing.

“You
could
shoot me,” I said, guessing Marie wouldn’t. “I mean, what are a few extra dead on your hit list, even though shooting people is just so messy? But, so you know, the cops are on their way, and my friend waiting on the dock is good buddies with Grayson Adams. Anything happens to me, he’ll take it personally.”