Malicious Mischief (A Rylie Keyes Mystery) (Entangled Select) (23 page)

He sneered, something dark wedged between his front teeth. “Prove it, greenhorn.”

I checked my watch, saw the time was about the same as last night’s bonfire, and silently thanked the mandala for excellent timing. “I understand you have an apartment you only occasionally use. Do you know what that tells me, Booth?”

Chin set, he shook his head.

“It tells me you want to keep a relationship secret, maybe from your wife.”

Booth crossed his arms. “A man’s gotta have some privacy, see. It’s not a crime.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “But blackmail is.”

His squirmy brows shot skyward, but he managed to say coolly, “So.”

“You saw Mackenzie throw the body over the rail last night. See how easy it is?” All eyes followed as I pointed to Leland’s discernible balcony. “She didn’t see you, though, but then she was busy,” I said. “Paul Desmont would do anything for his daughter, and you planned to capitalize on that. Only problem, the Desmonts’ are broke.”

He jerked a shoulder, but his eyes had widened in surprise. “Why are you dragging me into this?” he asked. “I heard everything you said a moment ago, see. That girl framed you.” He jabbed a gold-laden finger at Mackenzie. “She’s guilty, not me. I even helped Detective Talon. I told him I’d seen her working at the Starbucks near the wharf.”

Mackenzie rushed forward and pushed him. “You set me up. You bastard!”

“See how violent she is?” Booth straightened his coat. “She’s guilty, her and her mother.”

Mackenzie went to Lilith and hugged her, but received only a weak pat on the back.

I sighed, focused on Booth. “I figured you must have seen Lilith when she came home with the Codeine and vitamins last night?”

“This is insane,” he said. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Let me spell it out,” I said. “With Leland in jail for Otto’s murder, you have a better chance of keeping the watch. With Lilith in jail for doping the vitamins, you get free rein to blackmail Paul to keep Mackenzie out of jail. Now framing me, that was just mean.”

“I don’t have to stand here and take this.” Booth moved to leave.

“I think you do,” Talon said, pulling him back.

I drew in a breath. “Booth, you dragged Otto’s body to FoY’s van. Those darn nettles, huh?” With my hands in my pockets, I fidgeted with the cross Zach had given me. “Then you poisoned Victor Oley after he tried not once, but twice to kill me. What did you do, promise to give Queenie and him your blessing in exchange for his help?”

He stared at me, beads of sweat on his upper lip.

“But still,” I said, “you worried about looking guilty. After all, the police would connect you to Victor through Queenie. And, of course, everyone knew you left the bonfire before it ended. So you dosed yourself with codeine to throw off suspicion.”

He was scratching the rash again. “None of this will stick.”

“And the icing on this murderous cake was killing Victor Oley, and you were using Happy Hye’s love for you as leverage to make Queenie agree to be with you,” I said. “You’re in love with your own stepdaughter.”

“That’s sick,” Mackenzie hissed.

“Might be a book in there somewhere,” Lilith said.

Booth’s lips peeled back in a twisted grin. “Where is your proof?”

I stared at Talon, trying to put an unspoken message into my look. “The genetic profile on the foxglove seeds collected from Booth’s house,” I said to Talon. “Did they match the ones found on the muffins that killed the Oleys?”

“To the T,” he said easily.

“Three murders, Booth. Not good. And if I were to guess, I suspect we’d find another muffin in a Starbucks bag on the hood of Lilith’s car.” I watched his eyes narrow. “After the second attempt on my life, you didn’t plan on Victor leaving muffins in the panel truck for his parents to eat. You know we still have the death penalty in Washington.” I smiled. “Tough luck, greenhorn.”

Sighing, Booth bent to tug at his pant hem, fiddle with his sock. “Flower DNA. Ain’t that something?” He came up with a pistol in his hand, aimed it at Talon. “Go ahead, Detective, put the safety back on your revolver. I’ll be leaving now.”

Sounds went on around us: Mackenzie’s whimpers, Lilith’s curses, Talon’s warnings, Solo’s subtle growls. Even the firefighters were chatting over the tow-truck, seemingly too busy to notice Booth had a gun. But it was all background noise to me. Even the fear that made my heart race didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except I had to finish this, right here, right now.

Bracing my feet, I balled Zach’s heavy cross in my hand, adjusting the sharp point to jut out my fist. I inched it from my pocket. Booth was smugly chuckling at my shoulder as Talon snapped the safety over his gun.

Arrogant asshat
was my thought as I swung out and drove the cross into Booth’s crotch. He whooshed out a huge breath, buckled. Talon grabbed his gun, wrenched it away, and pushed him to the ground, where Solo plopped down on his back, flattening him like a cow patty.

Lilith dropped down beside Solo. “They’ll roll over if you don’t sit on their ass. It is all about torque. Writers study these things.”

I sighed in sweet relief, but it didn’t last long.

Mackenzie screamed, staring at her phone, “Omigod. Zach is becoming a priest!”

She whizzed past me, running in the direction of my house. I heard what sounded like a hysterical promise to kill herself. I rushed after her. She was heading to the deck. As I neared, she was already at the edge, teetering where the rail should have been had my grandfather not taken it down for repairs. She was sobbing, staring at the ground, some thirty feet though the trees, a hundred foot rocky roll to the lake.

“Go away!” she said. “Just go the hell away!”

I was amazingly calm. I had just brought down a killer. I had saved my job, kept my family’s home off the auction block. What’s more, I was a trained suicide prevention councilor. I was ready, prepared. Composed. Gandhi in a woman’s suit.

“Mackenzie, step away from the ledge,” I said evenly.

“Go to hell.”

I inched closer, faced her. I was okay with heights, but,
wow
, it was a long way down. With nothing else to hold onto, I grabbed the tip of a maple branch. “I’m sorry.”

She rolled her eyes my way, and I got dizzy just watching her. “What are you sorry for, chasing Zach away?”

I paused and took an emotional inventory. Heartbeat a little fast, but not soaring. I was still in control. “Zach was never mine to chase away,” I said.

“The son of a bitch couldn’t tell me in person,” she hissed. “A goddamn text message is all I got!”

“Did you know it takes years to become a priest?” I said, thinking ahead.

“Really?”

“You know, I think I can win him back.” I lied as she turned. “I’m sure I can.”

“Over my dead body.”

I eyed the drop below. “You can either clear the field for me, or fight me. Your choice.”

In one giant step, she was away from the edge. “You haven’t a chance, Rylie. I know things. Just so we’re clear, I’ve had his cock inside me.”

Go figure.
I finally talked down a jumper, and now I wanted to push her off the edge.

“You got me there,” I said.

She stared past me, sudden horror shooting into her eyes. Garbled words spilled from her mouth, echoed in the shadows. I turned my neck, shifting from confused to grim as hoards of bats exploded out from beneath the deck. In a whirling black wave, they tangled in my hair, scratched my face. The shock of it, the sting of it sent me spinning to slap them away.

I lost my balance, screamed. I flailed backward, grasping for something—anything. I caught hold of the maple, but felt it slip from my fingers. I slipped off the edge. Falling, a second scream froze in my throat. I hit a branch, managed to seize it with both hands, the abrupt stop nearly jarring my teeth from my mouth. I hung there, catching my breath, my legs dangling.

In a haze, I noticed the tree trunk only a few feet away. If only I could let go, just one hand. The strength of the other might hold me. It moved fuzzily through my mind that if I could grab hold of it, I could shimmy down the thirty feet. Maybe there was a way to inch over without letting go.

“Rylie.” It came from behind, on the deck, half panic, half plea.

I turned my head, stared at Talon in silence.

“Lass, grab my hand.”

But it seemed so far away. With my arms shaking, my strength failing, I slowly, deliberately, shook my head. “I can make it. I can reach the tree trunk.”

He was silent now, but his eyes were pleading with me. It was not until I inched a hand toward the trunk that he ripped out an oath. “Jesus Christ, honey, trust me.”

Then I turned back to him, my fingers freezing on the branch. “I can’t. I can’t reach you.”

“Reach me?” He spoke gently now. “You’ve done so much more than that. Take my hand, lass.”

For a moment, I stared. Then the weight of his words had me reaching out. Capably, calmly, he took a hold of my wrist, locked his fingers around it.

“Right, then.” His hold on me tightened. “Now the other hand.”

Somewhere on the lake music was playing. “I trust you, Talon.”

I let go.

Then in a wild tangle of fingers, faith, and fear, our hands locked. The second he pulled me up to the deck, I began to tremble. He wrapped his arms around me, held me close while the sunset on Mt. Rainier faded to gray and the lake sparkled with night.

Hazy voices and footsteps sounded all around as my trembling turned to numb shock. Paul led Mackenzie away, soothing her with soft words. Solo popped his head around the corner, assuring us that Booth was tied up and going nowhere. I didn’t look up when someone said my name, only forced myself when I heard it again. Curtis Hobbs stood over Talon and me, his mouth grim.

I smiled faintly, managed to say, “Thank you for sending the note to Lipschitz.”

“Not that it did me any good.” Curtis’s mouth sunk deeper into a frown. “Who is this guy, Rylie?”

I introduced them, but Curtis refused to shake Talon’s extended hand. Instead, he marched away in a huff.

“And his problem is?” Talon asked.

“I guess I wasn’t thankful enough,” I said. “I’ll talk to him later. I’ll make it right.”

“Thankful for what?” he asked.

I explained the Bintliff note. “Solo and I think it refers to the gambler Shoeless Joe Bintliff. We think Lipschitz might owe him money.”

“Lipschitz has many vices, but gambling isn’t one of them. No, it more likely relates to Maxwell Bintliff, a recently fired firefighter.”

I remembered the protestors outside the fire station. “I think I saw picketers holding up signs about that. Why was this Maxell Bintliff let go?”

“He was arrested last month at Crossroads Park.”

“What for?”

“Disorderly conduct, public drunkenness, and indecency,” he said. “Cross-dressing, thong bikinis, and two black wigs were involved.”

“Two wigs?” I asked.

“The evidence suggests he had a friend with him who escaped.”

I lifted my shocked gaze, met his laughing one. “Lipschitz?”

“Sounds like it,” he said.

Lipschitz in a thong.
Ack.
“Will this new information help your investigation?”

He shook his head. “It’s neither here or there, and best kept secret for now. More secrecy, I know, but trust me on this.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be asking that of me a lot.”

His smile spread slowly. “What cannot be helped must be put up with.”

“Another Scottish proverb?”

He nodded. “Chancy thing your friend Curtis did for you, but I’m pleased he did.”

Help doesn’t always come from who you expect, nor result in what you expect. Curtis had been protecting me, but it was Talon who gave me freedom to protect myself, who I wanted—wanted badly. Ironic. I would always appreciate Curtis’s assistance, the chance he took by quasi-threatening a police detective, an under suspicion one at that, and I would convey my appreciation and apology for not returning the affection I suspected he felt for me.

“Lipschitz a cross-dresser,” I said, imagining it. “That’s wild.”

“As to wild.” He lowered his lips to mine, nibbled there. “Rylie Tabitha Keyes, I cannae wait for you to drive me crazy.”

Acknowledgments

More than a few well-intentioned people warned that I’d never publish, citing the daunting disparity of books penned to books published. This pessimism stayed with me for many years, running though my mind, my heart, my hopes, and my dreams. I alone gave it power. The nagging need to pen stories broke through time after time, but I shut my eyes and paid no mind. I couldn’t take the chance. I couldn’t fail. Avoidance is insecurity’s refuge. Others encouraged me, christening my attributes, spotlighting my resilience, while my pessimism only forged ahead impervious. Then I lost my mother and confronted a grief much worse than any sorrow that failing to publish could spark or ignite. So from death rose up strength, from heartache rose up determination, and from orphanhood rose up confidence. And now I write. But as with all endeavors of the heart, teamwork is what makes my work thrive. It is to these generous players I offer my never-ending gratitude. While to those participants I’ve unintentionally omitted, I ask forgiveness.

I am deeply grateful to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, and to Elizabeth Pelletier, my acquiring editor, and to Libby Murphy, my editor, for their unending love for the written word, their belief in this book, and their faith in me, an unproven fledgling. I am also in debt to Shannon Godwin, editorial director, and ultimate “voice of reason.” I want to thank my publicists, Danielle Barclay and Anjana Vasan, who never baulk at my endless questions and work tirelessly behind the scenes.To my gal pals, who I list alphabetically to avoid sibling rivalry: Amanda Carlson, Marisa Cleveland, Jen J. Danna, Amanda Flower, Melissa Landers, Lea Nolan, Cecy Robson, Melody Steiner, Julie Ann Walker. Nothing can change our inception as “Nic’s Chicks,” though males in our mix would have been fun. “Nic’s Chicks & Dicks” is priceless.

To Dr. Linda Seim for always being there and slogging through first drafts like a trooper.

To Deborah Drake and Sharon Barber for the friendship and laughs. Long live the Crossroads Hamsters.

To Gene for being you, your patience and support, and for loving me. To Sierra for listening when I chatter about plots and characters, but also for hearing me as no one else can. To Daniel for never being too big or grown up to hug and kiss your mother. To Blane for always being close when I need you. To Brian for enduring my youthful mothering even though I didn’t know what I was doing. I love you all.