Текст книги "The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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“She could be a danger – not just to herself but to the rest of us. I mean, if she’s going around hitting people over the head –” Jane broke off what she was saying to greet Perry. “Well, there you are. How are you feeling after your morning’s adventure?”

For a minute he thought she was referring to what he and Nick had done. Then sanity reasserted itself. “Good.” Perry couldn’t look at Nick. He was afraid his face would give him away.

“You look better than I expected. There’s a little color in your cheeks.”

He couldn’t help it; he raised his gaze. Nick’s eyes held his for a second, and Perry knew that now there was even more color in his face. Nick’s face was blank. He was probably great at poker. Perry was great at Old Maid.

“There’s cocoa in the kitchen,” Nick said laconically.

“Oh. Thanks.”

He stepped into the kitchen, poured cocoa while listening to Jane. She called out, “Miss Dembecki has just confessed to hitting Mr. Stein over the head with a poker.”

Perry stepped back out of the kitchen. “You’re…kidding.”

Jane shook her head. “Nope. I was helping her with her laundry, and she just casually mentioned it, just as breezy as could be. She said she thought he was a burglar.”

“But…” He looked to Nick who shrugged. “Why…what was she doing in my apartment?”

Jane shook her head. “I have no idea. I’m not sure she does. She’s getting very…peculiar is all I can say. And if she’s starting to whack people over the heads with pokers…”

Perry said to Nick, “But how did we miss her going downstairs?”

“I guess if she hit him and ran – we didn’t look over the balcony, we just went across to your place and then went inside.”

“But the deputy would have seen her.”

Nick’s lip curled. “I knew that deputy was full of shit about how long he was away from his post.”

Jane said, “And that’s not all, by the way. The cops claim they’ve identified your body.”

Perry turned away from Nick. “Really? Who is he?”

“An investigator out of Jersey,” Nick said. “Raymond Swiss.”

“A private eye? For real? Why was he in my bathtub? Do they know who he was working for?”

Jane responded. “If the cops know, they’re not telling us lowly civilians. Apparently his secretary filed a missing persons report on him Monday when he didn’t return to the office.”

“He was a long way from home.” Perry digested this. “So…he was killed in this house?”

“It could have been an accident.” Jane hugged herself against a sudden chill. “But that’s the thing. They’re saying he died from a blow to the head.”

“You’re not thinking Miss Dembecki?” Perry protested.

“She’s not denying she clobbered Mr. Stein. The thing is the cops have taken Mr. Teagle in for questioning.” Jane was eyeing Nick speculatively. “And that was after your friend here had a word with them.”

Perry swallowed. He didn’t like to think of poor Mr. Teagle in jail even if he was an old weirdo. He couldn’t believe that he was a murderer, although he clearly had a few issues. But he couldn’t believe Miss Dembecki had killed someone, either.

He said, “If it was an accident, why didn’t someone say?”

Jane shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t know what they were doing. Maybe they still don’t.” She added slowly, “Maybe they were afraid. Maybe…they couldn’t come forward.”

Perry stared at her trying to follow this reasoning.

“Nobody killed Tiny by accident,” he said. “Tiny was shot.”

Nick said, “From the way you described the body, I’m guessing Swiss had been dead for a while by the time he was stashed in your apartment. He was probably killed somewhere else in the house. Maybe the basement. No one but Tiny ever went down there, and it would be pretty easy to clean up.”

“Or maybe he was killed in one of the secret tunnels,” Jane said. “They run all through the house and through the grounds and – get this, it’s pretty awful – there are all kind of eyeholes and listening stations throughout the house.”

As though on cue, there was a scratching sound behind the fireplace wall.

“They’re in the woodwork,” Jane muttered. “Cops, I mean. They’ve been prowling through the passages all morning.”

Perry gulped, thinking about all those peepholes. Meeting his eyes, Nick grimaced. The same thought had apparently crossed his mind.

Jane said, “Then whoever killed Tiny must have killed him to cover up the original crime – whether it was an accident or not.” She looked pale. “You’d have to be pretty ruthless to kill someone as harmless as Tiny.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I think we’re dealing with someone pretty ruthless. It would be a good idea not to forget it.”

Chapter Twelve

When Jane finally talked out her nervousness and departed, Nick said, “Okay, we’ve still got enough daylight to get in some target practice. Grab your jacket.”

Perry stiffened. He said shortly, “Look, I already know how to use a gun.”

“Great,” Nick said easily. “Then this won’t take long.”

“Not long at all, because I’m not going shooting.”

Nick raised his brows at this open defiance. Perry was obviously scared to death of firearms – which was pretty much what he had expected.

He said patiently, “I need to know that you can take care of yourself, and I don’t think hand-to-hand combat is going to be your thing.”

“Neither is shooting people.”

Nick choked back his immediate retort. He said mildly, “I’m not asking you to become a sniper, but if you get cornered by your pal from the passageway again, you might find this useful.” He offered his backup weapon, a Sig P-228. Small, light, accurate, and easy to conceal, all of which made it a perfect choice for Perry.

Except Perry was not cooperating. He stared at the Sig, not moving. His eyes raised to Nick’s. The Bambi look.

Nick hardened his heart. “I want you to carry it till this thing gets straightened out.”

Perry lifted one shoulder. “Fine.” He still hadn’t touched the gun.

“But first I want to be sure you know how to use it.”

“I already said.”

“I want to see for myself.”

Perry flushed, his eyes narrowing. “You won’t take my word for it?”

His righteous affront took Nick by surprise. He said quickly, “Yeah, I take your word for it, but I want to see whether you can hit anything.”

Perry put down his cocoa and rose from the table. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

He was still not speaking as they climbed into Nick’s pickup. Nick told himself he was unmoved. The kid could sulk all he liked. This was for his own good. Like learning to eat properly or wearing a condom.

But better not to let his thoughts drift in that direction, or they’d be heading straight back into the house for a little more afternoon delight. It was disconcerting. Nick hadn’t felt like this…well, it had been a long time. He wasn’t sure he’d ever exactly felt like this, because he was uncomfortably aware that he was taking advantage here. Cradle robbing, that’s what they called it. That was one of the nicer things they called it.

He drove until they passed a long empty meadow. Nick pulled to the side of the road, and they walked out through the tall grass. Nick lined up a row of tin cans he’d liberated from the recycling bin before they left the house.

He walked back to where Perry waited, hands shoved in his jean pockets, an un-Perry-like scowl on his pointed face.

Nick demonstrated. “Okay. Here’s the clip. You –”

Perry took the clip from him and slapped it into the P-228. He turned, stepped into perfect firing stance, and fired off three rounds.

Nick blinked as blam, blam, blam the tin cans went flying one after another off the crumbled stone wall.

“Jesus, Foster. You’ve got a hell of an eye…”

Perry fired off four more rounds. Clean, accurate shots picking off the rest of the tin cans. He ejected the clip and handed the empty Sig Sauer to Nick. He gave him that long, unfriendly look Nick had seen once before when Perry felt he had been seriously let down.

“Where the hell –”

“I learned to shoot when I was ten. My dad thought it was important for a man to be able to handle himself, which according to him meant being able to use a gun. I can blow away tin cans all day, and we both know that it doesn’t mean anything against a live target.”

He was right. Again. It was beginning to be a habit with him.

Nick finally found his voice. “Fair enough. But at least I know you can hit something if you have to.”

Perry shook his head. “I couldn’t shoot someone. No way.”

Nick strove for patience. Perry was coming at this from a perspective alien to his. “You don’t think if your life was in danger…”

“My dad used to make me go hunting with him. He said…” Perry changed his mind about sharing whatever recollection that was. Instead, he said, “I shot a rabbit once. It screamed.”

“They do sometimes,” Nick admitted.

“I threw up.”

“Look, frankly, I don’t get a big kick out of hunting, either,” Nick said. “There’s a difference –”

“I’m going back to the truck.” Perry stalked away.

* * * * *

Miss Dembecki greeted them when they returned to the house. She looked, to Perry’s uneasy eye, like she hadn’t combed her hair for a couple of days – or changed her clothes.

What happened to people like Miss Dembecki once they couldn’t take care of themselves? She didn’t seem to have any family.

She clutched his sleeve, saying eagerly, “Isn’t it dreadful! These secret passages run all through the house.” But her eyes were bright with excitement, not alarm.

“You’ve lived here so long,” Perry said. “Didn’t you have any idea about the secret passages?”

“Oh no! None of us knew. Not even Mrs. Mac.”

Well, that was clearly not true. Mr. Teagle had already plainly, if inadvertently, admitted to knowing about the tunnels.

Tiny might have known – he’d been prowling the estate for decades. Certainly the back passages had served in his mysterious disappearance. He didn’t appear to have been killed in the house. It was possible, though not probable, that he could have been dragged into the passage against his will. But surely someone would have seen or heard something?

Then again, Raymond Swiss had disappeared in this house – presumably against his will – and no one had seen or heard anything. Except his murderer.

And that was a point right there. Surely no one was going to be willing to admit to prior knowledge of the secret passages, because it automatically made them a suspect in Tiny’s and Swiss’s killings. And the fact that Mr. Teagle’s concern had been over being caught out peeping surely meant he hadn’t been worried about being suspected of murder because he hadn’t committed murder?

As though reading his mind, Miss Dembecki said, “The police have discovered where Tiny was shot in the passageway. They think his killer must have thought he was dead and left him, and then Tiny must have dragged himself to the door that leads into Mr. Watson’s apartment. And then he was too weak to go any farther.”

Nick asked, “Do they have any leads on who might have shot him? Have they narrowed the weapon down?”

“Oh! They’ve been searching for guns in poor Mr. Teagle’s rooms.” Miss Dembecki fluttered away and then – as Perry and Nick started up the staircase – fluttered back. “They’ve arrested him, you know. Mr. Teagle.”

* * * * *

They ate at the kitchen table. Framed in the window over the sink, an enormous orange half moon seemed to be dissolving right out of the black night.

Nick had roasted a chicken for dinner, and he served it with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn. The food was good – everything Nick cooked was good – but Perry picked at his supper.

Watching him, Nick’s brows drew together. “Eat.”

They hadn’t talked since they’d returned from target practice. Nick assumed Perry was sulking, and he had no intention of giving into that, but…he missed the easy companionship. He was getting used to it, getting used to Perry being around. Perry looked up. “I can’t when I’m nervous.”

Unimpressed, Nick said, “You’re always nervous. You need to replenish your nervous energy.”

Perry nodded, picked some more at his food.

Nick sighed. “What’s on your mind?”

He thought he had a pretty good idea, so he was taken off stride when Perry said, “That was true about your wife, right? You were really married?”

“Hell yes, I was married.”

“But you…”

Nick gazed into the Bambi eyes and said harshly, “Are you asking if you were the first guy I’ve been with? Don’t be dumb.”

Perry’s eyes darkened. His mouth went soft and hurt before he managed to control his face. Stonily, he said, “I didn’t think you learned those moves by osmosis. I just wondered if you considered yourself gay or what.”

Nick nearly laughed at the osmosis comment, but he realized that if he laughed at Perry now, it could likely end here. And maybe that would be the wisest thing – the best thing for Perry before this went any further, and the kid did something silly like convince himself he was in love – but Nick found he couldn’t do it.

He said calmly, “Yes. I’m gay. I married when I was younger than you are now. I didn’t think I had a choice back then.”

“And then…?”

It was obvious Perry didn’t know what questions to ask, and Nick said a little more gently, “I grew up. I learned that there were other choices and other ways to live.”

Perry was watching him steadily. Nick sighed. “Marie – my ex – and I knew we’d made a mistake within a couple of years. She found her way of dealing with it and I found mine. I wasn’t always as careful as I should have been, and it resulted in” – Nick took a deep breath. This was still hard to admit even to himself – “me getting kicked out of the navy.”

“They fucking dishonorably discharged you?” Perry’s shocked outrage was unexpectedly sweet. The kid’s eyes were bright with anger – too bright – and Nick recognized with a jolt that for the first time in his entire life someone was about to shed tears on his behalf.

“Hey, hey.” He reached out and covered Perry’s fist where it lay on the scrubbed oak table. “Listen, I was stupid. I knew the risk. I thought it was worth it, and I’m not going to kick now.” He gave Perry’s thin hand a squeeze and let it go. He was surprised to find himself smiling. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Yeah.” Perry expelled a breath. “Bastards,” he said fiercely.

Nick laughed – and about something he never thought he’d laugh about. “Eat your dinner, Foster. I don’t like my hard work going to waste.”

* * * * *

After dinner, Nick looked over the brochures for his training curriculum – which included everything from courses in computer research to report writing – and Perry went across to his apartment to get another sketchpad. He settled on the floor across from the sofa trying to watch Nick without being too obvious about it.

After a minute or two, though, Nick looked up. There was a glint in his gaze that warned Perry Nick had seen the sketch he had begun from memory at Watson’s.

“You’re wasting your talent on a mug like mine,” Nick informed him.

Perry said, “You’ve got a great face.”

Nick reddened and returned to his reading without comment. Perry sketched for a while – it gave him the excuse to stare at Nick as much as he liked. It was clear that Nick was totally absorbed in his reading, looking forward to California and his new job – his new life.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Perry said, laying the pad aside.

Nick looked up then. “Take the Sig and stick close to the house.”

Perry grimaced. “I can’t see that there would be any danger at this point. Everyone and their grandmother knows about the tunnels now.”

“We don’t know why Raymond Swiss was killed, and we’re guessing that Tiny was killed because of his big mouth. We could be totally off the track on all of this. And even if we’re not, neither death necessarily has a damn thing to do with Shane Moran’s missing loot.”

“What else could they all be looking for? Dembecki searching the gazebo and Rudy Stein checking out local history around that period?”

“Dembecki is unraveling faster than a ball of yarn, and Teagle, who did know about the passageways, turns out to have been interested in a different kind of jewels.”

Perry made a face. “Don’t remind me.”

Nick grinned, his face unexpectedly young in the soft lamplight. “Just sayin’.”

“Yeah, well don’t.”

Nick laughed.

“And what about Stein?” Perry asked. “He was doing all that research on this area back in the thirties.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“We could ask him what he was researching,” Perry suggested.

He was half kidding, but Nick said thoughtfully, “Yeah, we could at that.”

Then, apparently losing interest, Nick returned to his reading.

Perry went downstairs and walked briefly around the front yard, sticking close to the house. The pistol in his jacket pocket was awkward and heavy. He felt ridiculous wearing it. No way could he shoot someone. Nick just didn’t get it.

Irritably, he glanced back at the house and saw Nick’s figure outlined in the window of the tower – watching him. Perry’s irritation melted in foolish warmth.

* * * * *

When Perry returned upstairs, Nick was unfolding the blanket on the couch.

He glanced over his shoulder and said brusquely, “You can take the bed again. I may decide to take another look around later.” As Perry opened his mouth to object, he continued, “This is what I’m trained for, okay?”

So that was pretty clear. They were not sharing a bed. This afternoon had been…well, whatever it had been, it clearly wasn’t going to be a regular thing.

“Okay,” Perry said. “Good night.”

“Night,” Nick said curtly.

Perry went into Nick’s bedroom and changed into his pajamas. He sat down on the edge of the bed and listened to Nick moving around in the other room. Then the lights went off.

He sat there for a few minutes more, and then he went down the hallway.

“Nick?”

Nick’s form rose up from the sofa, a dark shadow moving through the other shadows. “What’s wrong?” The warm weight of his hands rested on Perry’s shoulders. Perry’s heart ached, thinking of the skillful and pleasurable things Nick’s hands had done to him earlier that day.

Never again?

“I just thought…there’s plenty of room in that bed.”

Nick was very still, his breath warm against Perry’s flushed face.

He said quietly, flatly, “Listen, Perry, I’m leaving in a week or so. I won’t be back.”

“I know.” Perry smiled with an effort – he didn’t know if Nick could see his face in the quicksilver moonlight, but he hoped he heard it in his voice. “No strings. It’s just sex.”

There was a funny pause. Nick said, “It sounds wrong when you say it like that.”

Perry didn’t – couldn’t – say anything.

He could feel Nick’s hesitation – but not reluctance, surely? Nick said, “I just want us to be on the same map.”

“Absolutely,” Perry assured him.

Still Nick didn’t move. Then he said slowly. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“I like sleeping with you,” Perry said. “I don’t want to waste time talking.”

* * * * *

And they did not talk. Nick was laconic by nature and Perry was shy – and adrift in unfamiliar sensation and emotions. They communicated by touch. Not the gentle, enlightening caresses of that afternoon; this was more urgent, more intense, partly perhaps because it had been a near miss. It still might be the last time.

Nick’s body covered Perry’s, and he could feel Perry’s fast and frantic heartbeats against his chest. Fast as the frightened pound of something small and gentle – a rabbit or a fawn. But when he pulled back to study Perry’s face, he could see the shine of Perry’s eyes and the gleam of his teeth, and he was smiling, not scared, just excited. Nick’s mouth covered Perry’s, and Perry’s lips were warm and soft and welcoming. His breath was light and fast, and it seemed suddenly, strangely precious to Nick.

A surge of unexpected emotion tempered his – considerable – lust.

He gathered Perry to him closely, warmly, feeling velvet soft skin and the silky hair of Perry’s chest and groin. Perry wrapped his arms around Nick, holding him back tightly, opening up to Nick’s kiss – Nick didn’t generally kiss other men, but somehow it was different with Perry. He liked his taste, he liked the softness and eagerness with which he responded to the press of mouths. He stroked him, enjoying the touch of strong bone beneath thin, delicate skin, and Perry murmured approval.

Nick settled between Perry’s legs, Perry moving instinctively to accommodate him, and again he sensed no anxiety as they rocked together. Perry was turned on and right there with Nick as their bodies changed pace, temperatures rising. Perry’s cock was prodding Nick’s belly and Nick’s cock…

He told himself to slow down…although Perry was making it difficult for him as his mouth latched onto one of Nick’s nipples, turning it pebble hard with a flick of his tongue. Perry’s mouth was trailing down the taut line of Nick’s throat, the muscular planes of his chest. Go slow, Nick warned himself, because Perry was all theory and imagination, and the reality was a bit more painful.

He wrapped an arm around Perry and rolled over so that now Perry was on top. He could feel the younger man’s surprise. Nick was a little surprised himself, but he stroked Perry, kneaded his ass cheeks, again taking time, reassuring by touch. With his free hand he reached for the lube, applying it liberally to that tight – very tight – little hole, turning this into something sensuous.

Perry’s initial stiffness melted away, and even when Nick unwrapped the latex, there was no discernable anxiety, no second thoughts. They fell back into the rhythm, lulled by the drive of longing, the pulse of desire, Nick was as careful as he knew how to be, pushing slowly but steadily at the wall of resistance.

Perry panted and then whimpered, but he didn’t retreat – he pushed down onto Nick’s cock – stubborn, insistent, shivering with a mix of wanting and hurting – and then Nick was in. And not moving, not taking was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He held himself in check, taking the time to soothe and pamper until it was Perry who initiated, a little awkwardly, but Nick met him, let him set the pace, and soon they were caught up again in that frantic tempo, the push and pull, the drag and draw, that slow, delicious friction rapidly building to something frantic and ferocious until at last they tumbled off the edge into the deep end of ecstasy.

They found themselves at last leaden limbed and catching their breath on the beach of a new uneasy understanding.

* * * * *

Let the journey begin, the faded, peeling billboard read. A young man in dress uniform gazed keen-eyed into a future that had surely come and gone by now.

“See,” said Perry. He nudged Nick who studied the billboard with a sardonic smile curling his mouth.

“I think nowadays the slogan is accelerate your life.”

“Hoo-boy!” Perry said.

“Hooyah,” Nick agreed, amused.

The morning was bitterly cold. The weatherman was prophesying snow for the weekend, although the skies were blue as the belly of an iceberg. Nick and Perry had woken early, fucked lazily and lovingly, and decided to go into the village to see what the sheriff had turned up.

Not that Nick expected a lot of cooperation from the sheriff, but it never hurt to ask – or push. Hard.

A gust of icy wind rattled down the street, blowing the Christmas lights strung through the trees lining the sidewalk, and Perry began to cough.

“Come on, Camille,” Nick said. “Let’s get you some cocoa.”

They went inside the bakery – the same one, Perry pleasantly informed Nick, where Mr. Watson had died – and Nick got a coffee for himself and cocoa and glazed doughnuts for Perry.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes; stay here where it’s warm,” he said briskly, and with that he was gone, vanishing down the street with that quick, purposeful stride.

Perry sat down at one of the little half tables scrunched against the wall beneath a Norman Rockwell calendar and dunked his doughnuts in the cocoa, watching the Christmas shoppers on the street outside

Fifteen minutes passed with no sign of Nick. There was no need to be nervous. It had probably taken him longer than he had expected. If anyone could handle himself, it was Nick. Nor would Nick forget about him and drive back to the estate. Perry’s anxiety persisted.

He stepped outside the shop, scanning the busy streets.

“Hey, buddy.”

Perry turned. A big man in a blue parka was shoving a paper his way. At first he thought it was a flyer, but then he realized it was a photo.

“You ever see this broad before?”

Perry stared at the man’s craggy face. Something about him was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him. He stared at the photograph.

The woman in the picture was young and thin-faced. Her raven hair was styled in one of those big hairdos, her makeup red and harsh.

“Well?” the man demanded. “You seen her around?”

Now Perry remembered him. He was the ugly looking customer from the diner.

Perry concentrated on the woman’s bone structure, mentally erasing the eyeliner, the ugly hair… His gaze narrowed. Holy…!

It was Jane maybe six or seven years ago. She looked harder, grimmer – and yet there was something haunted and vulnerable in her painted face.

“You do know her,” the man said, watching Perry alertly.

Perry looked up, his expression blank. “No.” He shrugged. “I don’t think so. She looks like a lot of people.”

“You know someone else who looks like her?”

Perry shook his head quickly. “I just mean she doesn’t seem like anything special.”

The man said oddly, “Oh, she’s something special, all right.” He put the photo back in his jacket pocket.

“Are you a cop?” Perry inquired.

The flat eyes met his own, and Perry felt a little prickle at the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s right. Keep it to yourself, though.”

“Sure.”

He glanced around, and Nick was striding down the street toward them, his face impassive, but eyes alert. Did he think there was trouble here?

Perry nodded to the man and moved away. The man continued to watch him. Had he done anything to give away his recognition of the photo?

Nick reached him, asking, “Who’s your friend?”

Perry glanced back. The man was walking into the bakery.

“I don’t think he’s anyone’s friend.”

He told Nick about the photo of Jane back in the day, and Nick said grimly, “He’s no cop.”

“How do you know?”

Nick shook his head. “I just know. Do you think he believed you about not recognizing the picture?”

“He seemed to.” Perry glanced back uneasily. “It doesn’t look like he’s watching me.”

Nick put his hand briefly on Perry’s arm. “Yeah, and let’s not get caught watching him, or he’ll know it’s bandits at twelve o’clock.”

“If he’s not a cop, why would he be asking about Janie?”

“Why don’t we ask Jane?” Nick said.

They were in the pickup and on their way back to the estate when Perry remembered to ask, “Did you learn anything at the sheriff’s station?”

“They’re releasing Teagle. They got confirmation on his alibi. He couldn’t have killed Swiss, and even these idiots can see that the two murders are probably connected.”

Perry said slowly, “Maybe Miss Dembecki thought Swiss was a burglar and used her trusty poker on him.”

“And then what?” Nick questioned. “Shot Tiny when he tried to blackmail her?”

Trying to imagine Tiny having the smarts to attempt blackmail was even harder to picture than Miss Dembecki blowing him away with her trusty .44 Magnum.

Perry shrugged. “Probably not. But I think Janie is right. I think Miss Dembecki is losing it.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Did you notice how excited she was at the idea of the passageways?”

Nick nodded.

“And she’s been searching the grounds, searching the gazebo.” Perry sighed. “She must have been in my rooms for a reason.”

Nick kept his eyes on the road. “You think she’s looking for the jewels too.”

“I do, yeah. If she’s getting senile, then I guess there could be another explanation of course, but…”

“That’s how I read it,” Nick agreed, and Perry felt foolishly flattered.

“What do you think happened? Shane Moran hid the jewels in one of the secret passages and then was killed before he had a chance to retrieve them?”

“Now that…I have no idea.” Nick considered, chewing. “I guess it’s possible. If it’s a fact that he and Alston’s wife were lovers, she might have told him about the passageways. In fact, he may have already known about them – they may have used those tunnels to smuggle booze into the house. The question is why would Moran stash the jewels at all? Why wouldn’t he just leave with them? What would there be to come back for aside from them?”

“Why did he hang around in the woods to get shot?” Perry agreed.

Their eyes met.

“Verity Lane?” Perry suggested.

Nick frowned. “You think he thought she might change her mind about leaving?”

“Maybe.”

Nick grimaced. “Then he was pretty stupid.”

“Maybe he just really loved her a lot,” Perry said quietly.

* * * * *

There was a local news van parked beside the bridge leading to the Alston Estate. A marked police car blocked its access, but the deputies pulled out of the way for Nick’s truck.

Inside the house, Jane was pacing up and down the front hallway.

“Did you see that? There was a news van here a while ago! I called the sheriff on them.” She smoothed her hands up and down her upper arms.

“Are you still not feeling well?” Perry asked. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure Jane hadn’t left the estate in over a week.

She snapped, “This goddamned place is freezing. I think the old bat turned off the furnace.”

“Which old bat?” Perry asked.

Jane gave a harsh laugh.

Perry’s eyes met Nick’s, and he read the message there. “Janie…” he began awkwardly.

As Perry told Jane about the man who was going around town showing her photo, Jane turned paler and paler until she was so white he feared she was going to faint. Nick must have thought so too, because he took her by the arm and guided her to one of the overstuffed chairs by the unlit fireplace.

Jane put her face in her hands. “What did you tell him?” she asked, muffled.

Perry said, “I told him I didn’t recognize you.”

She looked up, fastening her green gaze on him. “Did he believe you?”

“I don’t know.”

Nick said, “Even if he did, sooner or later he’s going to stumble on someone who knows you from that picture. This is a small town.”

Jane nodded. She seemed to be listening to an inner voice. An inner voice delivering some very bad news.