A Rendezvous to Die For (28 page)

Not at all,
I thought,
congratulating myself for my persistence.

When I left the house,
streetlights were already lighting the block. I stood on the
sidewalk, peering up at the second floor. No lights burned in number
206. I strolled to my vehicle, plotting the next move in my “save
Cassandra” strategy.

Chapter
25

Monday—Week
Four

Anna, the consummate Sherlock,
had gotten into the spirit of tracking down the beadwork artist.
Things were moving along, according to her latest message on my
answering machine. “Just to give you an update on the boots,
Cassandra. Hugo called and said he’s narrowed the beadwork style
down to two moccasin makers. One of them lives out East, not too far
from him. He sent him the picture to see if it’s his work, but he
hasn’t heard back from him yet. The other one is hard to reach.
Evidently a free spirit who travels the reenactor circuit all year
long. Hugo’s checking to see if the guy has an email or any other
way of reaching him. I’ll keep you posted.”

Nick had called me late Friday
and I agreed to meet him for a Saturday-night dinner and a movie.
God! We were even dating small-town style. Sometimes I felt as if I
were in a time warp.

Other
than that quite pleasant break in my usual routine, the weekend
passed with no progress on clearing my name. I didn’t want to dwell
on the fact that three entire weeks had passed with no progress on
naming the killer of Eric.

On Monday morning, I was driving
to my first appointment when my cell phone rang. It was my newest
bridal client, Stacy.

“
Cassandra,” she said, “I’m
running a little late. Would you be too upset if I met you at 9:30
instead of 9:00, same place?”

“
No problem,” I said, “see
you there.” With an extra half hour freed up on my schedule, I
drove to the library. Janine was working. “Long, hot summer we’re
having, isn’t it?” I groaned inwardly at my lame attempt at
normalcy.

“
I’ll say,” she said.
“Especially hot for you, though, isn’t it? How are you doing?”

“
I’m doing one day at a time.
Thanks for asking. Listen, do you have old Colton Mills telephone
books . . . say a year old?”

“
We sure do. C’mon and I’ll
show you where to find them.” She led me to an area along the back
wall. “Look through them to your heart’s content, but you’ll
have to leave them in the library. They can’t be checked out.”

I thanked her and pulled the
regional directory that contained Colton Mills off the shelf. I
opened the book to the D’s, and traced the names down to Dewitt.
Kathleen’s name was there and it matched the address on Eighth
Street where K. Dewitt was currently listed. I still wasn’t sure
what significance to attach to the name and address match. Whoever
was living there now may not have gotten around to changing the name
on the mailbox. But if that were the case, why was the apartment
still in Kathleen’s name in the phone book? And why was music
playing in the apartment late at night only on a rare occasion?

I returned to the counter.
“Janine, do you remember a car crash last year? The one that killed
a girl named Kathleen Dewitt?”

She tilted her head to one side
and stared across the room. “Hmm . . . do you know when it
happened, Cassandra?”

“
The beginning of the year, I
think. Maybe January or February.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s
more than a year ago. A lot of news has pushed that one out of my
mind. You know, winter car accidents in Minnesota aren’t exactly
earth-shattering news. I don’t remember her name, but I’ll tell
you where to look, if you’re interested.”

I checked my watch. “I have
about fifteen minutes.”

“
Okay, follow me.” She led me
to the computer room and pulled a couple of compact discs out of a
cabinet. After delivering instructions, she left me to my own
devices.

The first disc held local
newspaper stories for January/February of the previous year. I
clicked through the disc’s directory searching for anything that
said
Kathleen Dewitt
.
Nothing. I tried
accident
and was rewarded with about ten hits. But they weren’t what I
needed. Maybe
crash
. I
entered the word and again received several hits. Scrolling down, I
found the headline: “Young Woman Dies in County Crossroads Crash.”
Quickly opening the article, I scanned it until I found the name of
the victim. It was Kathleen DeWitt! I pushed
print
,
snatched the article off the printer, folded it, and stuffed it into
my back pocket. Tossing a dollar bill at Janine for the copy, I
dashed to my Jeep and headed for my meeting with Stacy. I was late.

Driving through town a couple
hours later, I thought about Kathleen’s apartment and wondered what
was behind her name still being on the mailbox. It probably wasn’t
important, but the diversion kept me from obsessing over my own
worsening situation. Like the fact that I hadn’t heard from Willis
yet. Surely he’d been given plenty of time to look into the boots
matter and the photo riddle. I reached for my cell phone and dialed
the number he had given to me. I was also eager to find out if he’d
learned anything that would help Marty, as the representative for the
Rendezvous group.

“
I’m sorry to disappoint you,
Cassandra, “ he said, when I reached him, “but I have not found
any useful information about those moccasin boots yet.”

“
That’s all right. I’m sure
you’re a busy man. But Willis, while I have you on the phone, can
you remember if you got to the Rendezvous before Marty that Saturday
morning?”

“
I believe that Marty camped
out on the grounds overnight, so, no, I did not get there before
him.” Willis paused, as though thinking. “I did arrive quite
early, however, as I followed that young man from the stables to the
site and he left shortly after dawn.”

“
What guy from the stables?”
I could hear my voice rise with dread and I turned down the sound on
the car radio.

“
You know, dear . . . the
trainer there. Jack.” He paused. “I don’t know his last name.”

“
Gardner. Jack was at the
Rendezvous?”

“
He had to trailer a couple
horses for two of the participants. I didn’t know the way, and he
said I could follow him.”

I gulped a lungful of air and
counted to ten to steady my voice. “Any idea how long Jack stayed?”

“
No, I’m afraid I don’t,
Cassandra. I didn’t even talk to him, as I had other things to do.
He went one way, and I went the other after we arrived.”

I thought I had been surprised
when I learned Jack knew Eric. Now, he was at the Rendezvous? And
with all our conversations about Eric, he never thought it pertinent
to share that information with me? I had told Jack almost everything
about my situation. He had looked through my photos. What if it
weren’t to help me, as much as to learn if I had a picture of him?

The fact that Jack didn’t tell
me about Eric or the Rendezvous could only mean one thing—he had
something to hide. He had been helping me keep abreast of what I
knew. With that thought, I smacked the steering wheel with my hand.
Why had it taken so long for this piece of the puzzle to fall into
place? Jack had not only set up my appointment with Randy the night I
found him dead with a knife in his back, but Jack was with me when we
found Jim. He had protested against our taking that trail through the
woods
.
Quite pointedly.

Lost in my depressing thoughts, I
nearly back-ended the car in front of me, which had slowed to let
someone dash through a crosswalk. I slammed on my brakes and felt my
heart lurch into my throat. The near accident completely snatched my
breath away and I pulled over to the curb to settle down. My mind was
whirling with so many thoughts, nothing was making sense. Clear
thinking was necessary. My life could depend on it, especially if
Jack was a murderer.

Finally, I felt I had control of
myself enough to resume driving back to the carriage house. I
resisted the impulse to call Jack and scream bloody murder at him.
One, it would be blatantly stupid. If Jack had killed any or all
three of the men, he would do the same to me if I were no longer
useful to him. Two, as long as he didn’t know what I had learned,
and if I were careful, I could use him at the same time he was using
me. I had to take everything Jack had told me with a grain of salt.
What could I believe? Had Eric really instigated a blackmail campaign
against Strothers? Maybe Jack had made it up to throw suspicion on
Strothers and away from himself. What had he told me about Marty? Oh,
yes . . . he set me up to talk to Randy Pearce about Marty’s
violent behavior. Maybe he had coached Randy in advance so that I
would believe Marty had a motive for killing him. I would have to
tread very, very carefully where Jack Gardner was concerned.

Thinking about Jack made me think
about Midnight and, unbidden, my mind returned to the Kathleen DeWitt
mystery. I needed to get into what I was sure was her apartment.
Maybe I could learn how to find her father and offer to buy her
horse. The second my mind headed in that direction, I thought I knew
how to pull it off. When I had driven through the alley the week
before, I’d noticed a shallow faux balcony with a scrolled
wrought-iron railing on the back of the building, just outside what
must a bedroom window. At one time, the window had overlooked a
substantial garden between the building and the alley. All that was
left now were some overgrown foundation plantings centered on a
full-grown tree that brushed against the building. I could climb the
tree and enter the apartment through the second-floor window. There
should be just enough room on the platform separating the building
from the railing of the ornamental balcony.

I glanced at the dashboard clock
and, although I was mentally weary, I determined now was the best
time to tackle the break-in. I wouldn’t be able to sleep with so
many questions on my mind. Although I had time to drive all the way
out to the Carriage House and back to town, I wasn’t up for it.
Fortunately, I was dressed in what I figured would be fairly decent
tree-climbing clothes—Levi’s, a long-sleeved red-plaid shirt, and
my best pair of Land’s End hiking boots. If my memory served me
correctly, I had some old leather gloves in the truck, for
tire-changing purposes. I also had a tire iron and a crowbar and a
few other tools for emergencies on my photo shoots. My weight-lifting
regimen would serve me in good stead to boost myself into the tree.
The climb itself should be fairly easy. Once I had talked myself into
the scheme, I felt more energized.

First, however, I had to get
something to eat. My unexpected trip to the library, the meeting with
Stacy, and my phone call with Willis had taken any thought of lunch
away from me and my backbone was playing a version of
Dry Bones
on my stomach organ. I’d have to kill enough time to ensure it was
dark and perfect my plan. Deputy Shaw would rub his hands together in
glee, if I were brought in for one more questionable shenanigan.

I wasn’t ready to discuss any
of my new revelations with even Anna and I didn’t want to run into
anyone I knew, so I chose a neighborhood café that served
Scandinavian-style cooking, instead of one of my usual haunts. While
I dined on Swedish meatballs over egg noodles and a generous slice of
cranberry-apple pie in total anonymity, I plotted exactly how I would
proceed, once I had parked near Eighth Street. Getting through the
window posed a problem, since I’d never broken into a building
before. If I remembered correctly, it was a hinged window, opening
onto the faux balcony, which was about ten-fifteen feet off the
ground. As long as the window had not been updated with new safety
glass and fasteners, I was counting on the crowbar to get me inside.
Alarm systems were few and far between in Colton Mills, so I was
confident I wouldn’t face that challenge.

I spent the rest of the afternoon
and early evening accomplishing several errands, spending over an
hour in the photo shop buying the chemicals and paper I needed to
replenish my darkroom supplies.

The sun had barely set when I
parked on a dark side street two blocks away from Kathleen’s
building. Feeling slightly queasy, I remained in the car for several
minutes while considering again what I was about to do. I would be
hit with some serious criminal charges, if anyone caught me.
Notwithstanding that possibility, my curiosity overcame my
misgivings, and I gathered my gloves and tools and began the short
walk to the apartment house. Not a leaf stirred on any tree. The sky
was moonless and clouds covered most of the stars. Every footstep
echoed in my ears as I picked my way carefully through the uneven
gravel alley.

Right when I thought I should
turn back, the building loomed in front of me. I peered through the
darkness to identify the tree and to search for signs of the faux
balcony outside my target window. It would take me only a few more
steps to reach it. In five minutes, I could be up on the balcony
ledge. I stood as still as a statue and pondered the right thing to
do. It was now or never.

Listening for the sounds of
anyone in the area, I finally felt comfortable that I was alone. I
reached up and grabbed hold of the lowest-hanging branch. After a
couple of tries, I succeeded in pulling myself up over the branch,
until I was standing on it. Then reaching for the next branch, I
hoisted myself even higher. I was decidedly rusty at tree climbing,
especially in the dark, but I eventually managed to climb until I was
within a couple feet of the ornamental balcony. Carefully, I
stretched out my arm, until my hand touched the top of the railing.
Grasping it tightly and then letting loose my grip on the tree branch
above me, I took hold of the railing with my left hand and pulled
myself over the edge and onto the narrow balcony. It was covered with
months of accumulated dirt and leaves. I silently instructed myself
to dispose of my footwear as soon I left the premises, in case the
boots left imprints.