Deadly Ruse Read online

  Kate reached across the table and gave my arm a playful slap. “You’re incorrigible.”

  I ordered some jalapeño poppers and a pitcher of Michelob with two frosted mugs, and we sat there enjoying the sunset while a solo guitarist played soft rock and beach tunes. I’d been waiting for Kate to mention last night’s ruckus, but she was acting as if it had never happened. Patience has never been one of my greatest virtues, so I figured I’d take a chance. Big mistake.

  “So, how’re you doing with the Wes Harrison thing?”

  Kate frowned. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.” She stared into her mug for a minute before looking up. “I know what I saw, Mac, and I saw Wes.”

  I washed down a bite of popper with a swallow of beer and let out a breath. “Look, I believe you believe what you saw, but—”

  Kate slapped the table. “I am not crazy! I saw Wes last night as sure as I’m seeing you right now!”

  “But it’s—”

  “Fine, don’t believe me then.” She grabbed her purse and stood up.

  This short fuse wasn’t like Kate at all. I reached out and gripped her wrist. “Where’re you going?”

  “Home.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “But tonight’s karaoke. I was even thinking about getting up there myself.”

  She shook loose of my grasp. “Have a good time.”

  CHAPTER 3

  I tried calling Kate several times the next day, but she didn’t answer her home or cell phone. Finally I gave up and drove to her house. Her Honda CR-V wasn’t in the driveway. I knew she wasn’t scheduled to work that Sunday, but by midafternoon and more unanswered calls, I drove to Gillman’s anyway just to make sure.

  “She came in early this morning and asked for a few days off,” Linda Gillman, who was working the store register, told me. As newlyweds, Linda and Gary Gillman had found their way down to the Gulf Coast from Minnesota and in two decades had built a small, struggling business practically from scratch into one of the finest marinas on the Panhandle coast. A tall, striking woman in her midforties, Linda had the same pale-blue eyes and whitish-blonde hair as their teenaged daughter, Sara, though Linda’s was cut almost mannishly short.

  On my way out I walked over to Sara, who was busy placing packages of hooks and other fishing tackle on metal rods extending from the shelves. “No, Mr. Mac,” she said in her Southern drawl that had somehow managed to override her parents’ heavy Minnesotan accent. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her this morning. She did seem pretty upset about something, though.”

  “Any idea about what?”

  Sara shook her head, causing her long ponytail to swish like a horse’s flicking away flies. “No, sir, but yesterday she said something about needing to find an old friend or something like that.”

  That night I was watching the local ten o’clock news when headlights flashed through the trailer’s windows. Tires crunched over the gravel drive, and a vehicle pulled to a stop behind my Silverado. Thinking it might be Kate, I hurried to the door and opened it. The driver-side door of a white, older-model Toyota Corolla swung open, and a pair of long legs emerged, followed by the rest of a tall, shapely figure. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust enough to recognize Cousin Dakota striding toward me.

  “Hey, McClellan,” she said, climbing the steps and slipping past me through the doorway without waiting for an invitation. Before I could speak she’d made herself comfortable on the small sofa along the opposite wall, legs crossed, arms outstretched along the back.

  At least she was decently dressed this time, although the modest white shorts and sky-blue blouse were more suited to summer than this chilly early-spring night. Makeup covered the mouse under her eye, and lip gloss hid any signs of the split. Her hair had even met up with a comb or brush.

  “Dakota,” I finally managed to force out with a nod. “What brings you here?” And how the hell do you know where I live, anyway? I added to myself.

  Ignoring my question, she moved her arms from the sofa’s back and dug through a small purse in her lap I’d somehow failed to notice when she’d invited herself in. The sleeve slipped up her bicep, exposing the tattoo J.D.’s hand had covered when I’d seen the two at The Green Parrot yesterday afternoon: a ring of barbed wire with alternating butterflies and honeybees. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee flashed through my mind. After a moment she blew out an exasperated breath and glanced up. “You got a cigarette?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t smoke.”

  Dakota forced another breath through pursed lips. “Figures.” She uncrossed her legs and pointed to the bottle of Michelob I held in my hand. “How about one of those?”

  I chuckled and shook my head again. “I don’t think so. You know, contributing to the delinquency of a minor? I doubt Cousin J.D. would approve.”

  “I’m twenty-one.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, so am I.”

  “Oh, give me a friggin’ break.” She did the Elvis thing with her upper lip and fished through the purse again. Her appearance may have climbed up the ladder a couple of rungs, but her language was still in the gutter. “Here,” she said, handing me a laminated card that looked about the size of a driver’s license.

  It was, and on the surface it appeared to be the real deal. Up-to-date Florida license, local address; Dakota Blaire Owens, date of birth February 22. According to this, she was legal. “You and George Washington, huh?” I handed the license back. “Sorry, I’m not buying.”

  Dakota snatched the card and made that throaty growl I’d heard her give J.D. as she rummaged through the purse some more. “Will this do?”

  I took the other card she held out. It was a student photo ID for Chipola College, which was about forty miles north of St. George near the town of Marianna. Everything checked out with the info on her driver’s license. I stared hard into those big brown eyes for a long moment. She didn’t blink or flinch. I handed the card back. “Okay, but just one,” I said, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Michelob. “You’re not driving away from here buzzed.” I twisted off the cap and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” Dakota said. She tilted the bottle and knocked back a healthy swig as I sat in the recliner across from her.

  “Now, what brings you here?” I repeated.

  She crossed her legs again, wagging an Adidas-covered foot slowly back and forth. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while, is all.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  One eyebrow arched, and her lips crept into a coy smile. “It’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.”

  “Hero?” I took a quick swig of beer and snorted. “You got it wrong, young lady. Your cousin’s the one who bailed my butt out of trouble. If anybody’s a hero, it’s J.D.”

  Dakota sat there smiling and wagging her foot. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, even a little intimidated by this barely legal siren who was only a few months older than my own daughter. Just what the hell was she really doing at my place at ten-thirty on a Sunday night? My gut told me hero worship had nothing to do with it. “So, what’re you studying at Chipola?” I said, more to alleviate my own uneasiness than to make small talk.

  Dakota’s foot stopped wagging. She took a sip of beer and ran a finger in circles around the rim of the bottle. “What the crap do you care?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  Dakota took a final swallow, got to her feet, and placed the half-empty bottle on the lamp table beside the sofa. “Thanks for the beer, McClellan,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

  I stood up. “You’re welcome.”

  She stopped as she swung the door open. “Maddie Harper was a friend of mine,” she said, her back to me. “I appreciate what you did for her, finding her killer and all.”

  I just stood there. What the hell do you say to that?

  Dakota started down the steps. She stopped and turned. “Hey, McClellan, do me a favor, oka
y?”

  “Depends. What is it?”

  The gusting wind caught Dakota’s hair, blowing it across her face. She brushed it out of her eyes with her free hand. “Keep an eye on J.D. for me. He can use your help.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Monday the weather turned warmer, and I spent most of the day in my rental boat cruising the bay and wetting a few lures. While I didn’t catch anything worth keeping, it was nice getting out on the water again after a colder-than-normal winter and blustery first week of spring. It also helped distract me some from fretting about Kate.

  By noon Tuesday I still hadn’t heard a word from Kate. My concern was turning into worry. It just wasn’t like her to disappear and treat me like I didn’t exist. We’d worked together to find out who’d been responsible for Maddie Harper’s death and had grown close in the time we’d known each other. After Labor Day Kate took ten days off from work, and we’d hitched up the Grey Wolf and made a beeline for North Carolina. First stop was UNC-Wilmington, where my son Mike is on a baseball scholarship, then on to Raleigh and NC State where daughter Megan is studying to become a veterinarian. Kate and the twins hit it off better than I’d expected, and both kids seemed happy I’d found someone to fill the void caused by their mother’s and my divorce.

  On our way back to St. George, Kate and I spent an enjoyable few days cruising the Blue Ridge Parkway and exploring the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We’d grown even closer on our little trip, and the “M” word slipped into my thoughts for a quick visit a time or two.

  Like most couples, we’d had our little disagreements, but never before had Kate shut me out over anything. It was obvious I’d underestimated just how deeply this Wes Harrison matter was affecting her.

  I fished through my wallet and found Mark Bell’s business card. Mark worked in graphics at a print shop in Destin, Kate’s hometown, located on the coast some seventy miles west of St. George. He’d given me the card last summer when Kate and I called on him with an envelope full of less-than-sharp black-and-white Polaroids we hoped he could improve. Mark worked his magic, and the results were beyond what I could’ve hoped for. The enhanced photos proved to be a big help in busting up the drug op and bringing Maddie Harper’s killer to justice.

  I turned the card over and punched in Mark’s personal cell number he’d jotted down on the back. He answered on the second ring.

  “Mark, it’s Mac McClellan.”

  “Hi, Mac. I had a hunch I might be hearing from you.” His voice sounded unenthused at best, which I figured couldn’t be a good sign.

  “Have you heard from Kate? She took off a few days ago but didn’t let anyone know where she was going.”

  There was a brief silence, broken by the sound of something clanking and Mark’s muffled voice talking to someone. “Sorry, Mac, it’s kind of busy around here right now. Kate’s staying at our parents’ house.”

  A wave of relief flowed through me just knowing she was safe. “Could I have their number? Kate won’t answer her cell phone.”

  Another hesitation. “I don’t know. She seemed pretty upset at you over something.”

  “Did she tell you what about?”

  “No, just that she needed her space for a while.”

  “What about your parents? Did she mention anything to them?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. They’re still in Arizona. They’ve been spending winters at an RV park on Lake Havasu the last few years. I doubt Kate would want to dump anything on them.”

  Other than Mark, I’d yet to meet Kate’s family. As close as we’d become, she’d never offered to introduce me to her parents or two older brothers. I hadn’t pushed the matter. If she wasn’t ready to commit to anything other than an unspoken exclusive relationship, so be it. “Going steady” seemed a bit juvenile, but I guess that best describes what we’d had going the past several months.

  I took a few seconds to get my thoughts together. “Listen, Mark, do you remember a guy named Wes Harrison?”

  “Wes? Sure. He was Kate’s boyfriend,” Mark said. Then his tone changed, like he’d possibly let a secret slip out without thinking. “You do know about Kate and Wes, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. He died in a boating accident in the gulf, right?”

  “Right. Along with Eric Kohler and Robert Ramey. They drowned when a squall capsized their boat. There was also evidence of a fire in the engine room that might’ve been a contributing factor. That was a bad time. It damn near killed Kate.”

  I’d known the incident had claimed three victims, but it was the first time Kohler and Ramey’s names had been mentioned. The fire was also news. I heard what sounded like a pen or pencil drumming on a desktop for a few seconds before Mark said, “What does Wes Harrison have to do with this?”

  I took a deep breath and let it slide out. “Kate and I were at the movies in Parkersville Friday night. Kate forgot her purse on the way out. She went back to get it and... she claims she saw Wes in the lobby.”

  The drumming stopped and a brief silence passed. “That’s crazy. I mean, they never found any of the bodies, but...”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But now I’m not so sure. Kate’s pretty damn convinced she saw the guy, and I’m starting to believe her.”

  Another quick silence, then, “You got a pen handy, Mac?”

  I’d just finished jotting down the Bells’ home phone number and ended my conversation with Mark when J.D. Owens pulled into my driveway. I stepped out to greet him as his car door opened. “Sorry for not giving you that call yet,” he said, climbing out of his blue and white Ford cruiser. “We been shorthanded with Chief Tolliver down in Clearwater attending that Police Chiefs Association meeting.”

  I grinned. “You got the new chief trained yet?”

  J.D. flushed at my little joke and returned the grin. “Yes, sir, just about. Beth’s been keeping him on his toes.”

  I’d met Chief Brian Tolliver shortly after the St. George City Council hired him in October. Tolliver was around my age, maybe a couple of years younger, and of average height and build. Picture a fortyish Huck Finn, and you’ve described the new chief to a T. He’d spent fifteen years with the Tallahassee police and knew his stuff. In the short time Tolliver had been on the job he’d managed to expand the department by two full-time officers and was hounding the council to hire one more. Counting Chief Tolliver and Sergeant Owens, the St. George Police Department now boasted a force of four full-time officers plus Beth, the dispatcher, who had undergone an almost overnight makeover in appearance with the new chief’s hiring.

  “What’d you want to talk to me about?” J.D. said, getting down to business.

  I decided not to mention Dakota’s little visit Sunday night or her request that I keep an eye on J.D. No sense complicating matters. I motioned to the picnic table, and we both took a seat on top with our feet resting on the bench. A couple of blue jays began scolding a squirrel in a nearby pine. “I need some information on a man. I thought you might check police records and see if you can come up with anything.”

  “What’s the name?” J.D. said, pulling a small notepad and pen from his shirt pocket.

  “Wes Harrison.”

  J.D. looked up. “Wes? That his full first name?”

  I shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got. Maybe it’s Wesley, something like that.” I hadn’t told Kate that I planned on looking into Wes’s background. She was upset enough as it was, already.

  The young sergeant jotted down the name. “What’d this guy do, Mr. McClellan? I mean, I can’t go looking into somebody’s background without just cause.”

  I took a breath and gave J.D. the whole spiel about what had happened at O’Malley’s Friday night, plus a description of the guy Kate had sworn was Wes Harrison.

  “What about his eye color?” J.D. said.

  I thought for a minute. “Kate didn’t say.”

  J.D. frowned but didn’t say anything. Professional courtesy, I guess.

  When we were finished, J.D. kn
ew as much as I did about the three amigos and their alleged descent into Davy Jones’ Locker. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but Kate swears it’s this Harrison guy she saw. If the man is alive, something mighty fishy must’ve been going on back then.”

  J.D. nodded. “And you say this accident happened over in Destin about twelve years ago?” he said, checking his notes again.

  “According to Kate.” I was impressed with how confidently J.D. went about his business, how much he’d matured in the months since the drug bust.

  J.D. stared across the crushed shell-and-gravel road and tapped pen against pad. “Seems like I remember hearing about that accident way back then. Funny, who would’ve thought Miss Bell would’ve known them guys?”

  I watched as the blue jays gave up their game with the squirrel and flew across the campground toward the office where Jerry and Donna kept several feeders filled with seed. “Yeah, sometimes it really is a small world.”

  Kate returned my call around nine-thirty that night after I’d left a second message on her parents’ answering machine. It took some doing, but I finally convinced her that I now believed she’d seen Wes Harrison at O’Malley’s. Kate had never lied to me before, and I felt like a louse for ever doubting her. If she saw Wes Harrison that night in the lobby, she saw Wes Harrison. I apologized and promised I’d do everything in my power to help her get to the bottom of Wes’s sudden resurrection from the dead.

  Kate was due back to work at Gillman’s on Saturday, but she asked if I could drive to Destin in the morning. There were a couple of things she wanted to check out, and she’d feel more comfortable if I was there to help. What the hell was I going to say, no? She gave me the address and directions to the house, and I promised to meet her there at ten sharp Wednesday.

  We exchanged good-nights, and I was about to click off when Kate shouted, “Wait!” into my ear. For the entire conversation something had been troubling me about the sound of Kate’s voice. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but something told me all wasn’t right with our world. What I heard next didn’t do a whole lot to ease my concern.