Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (26 page)

Megan dug into the envelope, pulling out several sheets of paper. She scanned the first page. “It’s a fax. From Gordon. Says it’s confidential.”

Positioning the page so Justin could see it, they strolled across the lobby to a seating area. She dropped onto a loveseat, and Justin sat alongside. She passed off the cover sheet and stared at the next page. Expecting the message to relate to finding whoever was after them, it took a few seconds for the text to register as handwriting, and in German at that. A letter of some sort.

She snatched the typewritten cover sheet from Justin, who sat, slack-jawed, hardly seeming to notice she’d removed the paper. Rather, he was staring at the German writing on the sheets she held, a puzzled expression on his face.

She handed off the letter and read the cover sheet.

Megan and Justin:

The following letter, addressed to Sam, was misfiled at Vintage Duds. I’m honoring your request for confidentiality before sending it off to be translated. I’ll let you decide how you want me to handle it, but be advised that if it turns out to be evidence in the Bedford case, I’m going to have to follow procedure and turn it over to the county investigators.

G.

“Could this be what we’ve been searching for?” she asked, handing the cover sheet to Justin and reclaiming the other pages. “Four pages. It’s not much of a journal. Did your cousin say how long it should be?”

Justin shook his head, still looking stunned.

“Earth to Justin.” She waved her hand in front of his eyes.

He took the first of the German pages from her and stared at it for an endless moment. He handed it back and lowered his head to his hands. He’d gone three shades of pale.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, his voice flat and barely audible.

His obvious distress had the squadron of butterflies in her belly doing a darn good imitation of the Blue Angels. She took his hand, then snaked her arm around his waist. “No offense, but you don’t look fine. You need some water? Or a drink?”

He stood, pulling her up with him. “I’m said I’m fine. But I don’t know how to tell Opa.”

“Tell him what? You can read it?”

“Maybe, with a couple of days and a dictionary. We spoke English at home. I’ve got two years of high school German. You were probably exposed to more German than I was.”

“Rose and Sam spoke English around me. And most of what I picked up was Yiddish. Mapleton didn’t offer German in school.”

Justin’s brow furrowed as he started reading the pages again. She itched to take them from him, but why? It wasn’t like she could read them.

“Does it mention the journal?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember much, and handwriting isn’t the same as a textbook.”

“So what
do
you know?”

“It’s from someone’s brother, and says something about the camps. And death. And it’s signed ‘Heinrich’, but Sam’s name isn’t in the letter. But there’s a reference to Kaestner. And Carpenter.”

“So there
is
a connection between them.”

“That says that the stuff I Googled is likely accurate. The big question is, do I show it to Opa?”

“If it’s not for him, he says, ‘I don’t know who this is,’ and maybe he’ll have ways to trace it to its rightful owner. I say we have to show him.”

“You’re right,” he said. But he still looked shaken.

Something squeezed her heart. All those years she’d thought he was a pain in the neck. She’d been too shallow, too self-centered to see beyond his exterior and recognize the compassion inside. She thought he was in more anguish than Rose and Sam would be if the story turned out to be true.

Without a glance to see if anyone might be watching, she grasped his neck, pulled him lower, lifted her lips to his. His quiet groan was swallowed by their kiss.

“Megan.” His voice was hoarse in her ears. “God, Megan.” He broke the kiss, broke the body contact, but held her hands. “This isn’t the time.”

She sucked air. “I disagree. I feel a lot better now.”

His gaze bored through her. “You can’t tell me that was just another sharing the stress trick.”

She lowered her eyes. “I could. But it would be a lie.”

He jerked away and reached for his belt, unclipping his phone.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head, a puzzled expression on his face as he stared at the display. “It’s a text. From Opa.”

She tried to grab the phone, to read it herself, but he spun away. “What does it say?” she asked.

“They’re in Mapleton.” He extended the phone.

She stared at the screen.
Rose not feeling well. Rented car. Back in Mapleton
. “Oh, God. She overdid it. Or her medication is wrong. We have to get back. Now.”

“We will. Let’s get our stuff.”

She grabbed his hand and started dragging him toward the elevator. “Call them. Find out what happened.”

Justin complied as the elevator doors opened, then shook his head. “Voice mail.”

“So text them. Tell them to call, that we’re on our way.” She pulled him into the elevator, pressed ten and grabbed his phone, unable to wait. She punched in a message. Somehow, doing it herself gave her a feeling of control. Justin put his hand on her shoulder.

“Share the stress?”

She smiled.

“Are you trying the land line?” Justin asked. “Speed nine.”

Damn. She should have thought of it. She got their machine. “Rose? Sam? It’s Megan. Please call. Let us know you’re okay.” The doors opened on the tenth floor. Megan rushed out. “Meet you in my room as soon as you’re packed.”

A few minutes later, she opened the door to Justin. “Almost ready,” she said. She did a quick check to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then zipped her bag shut. “Should we call, let the desk know we’re leaving?”

“I’d rather leave it open. For all I know, we might end up back here.”

Within minutes, they were on the road. Megan clutched Justin’s phone, squeezing it as if that would force Sam to pick up. When it rolled to voicemail again, she shoved it into a cup holder. “They don’t let you use cell phones in hospitals, do they? You think that’s why he’s not picking up?”

“Could be. But if it was major, Opa would have insisted on taking her to an emergency room here in Denver, not gone to Mapleton. They’re probably trying not to worry us, the same way we were trying not to worry them.”

“That’s not quite the same,” Megan said. “They don’t know they have something to worry about.” She gazed out the window, her foot subconsciously pressing on an imaginary gas pedal.

“We’re almost there,” Justin said. “We’ll probably all have a good laugh when it’s over.”

He wasn’t laughing now, though. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and that muscle in his jaw twitched. He met her gaze, and his features softened. He took one hand from its death grip on the wheel and rested it on her thigh. She covered his hand with hers and closed her eyes, trying to keep her thoughts focused there instead of on Rose.

The physical contact held her together until they left the highway and he needed both hands to navigate the mountain road.

Her emotions swirled.

Relief that they’d heard from Rose and Sam. Worry about why they’d left Denver. How they’d left Denver. Apprehension about showing them the letter. Fear that there was a killer on the loose and he might strike again.

Frustration that she hadn’t been able to reach Gordon, compounded by the frustration that he hadn’t responded to her messages, asking him to check up on Rose and Sam. At least not before they’d been sucked into that cell phone void.

And then there was the totally new one. Desire.

For Justin? But there it was, overwhelming the whirlpool of other emotions. A fling. That was what she needed, and Justin was safe. He’d go home to his job, she’d go home to hers, and they’d have some nice memories. She could still taste their kiss. Oh, yeah. The memories would be more than nice.

Gordon stared at the crime scene contamination sheets, the lists of every person who crossed the boundaries of a potential crime scene. He spread them on the table.

Common denominators.

Ridiculous, he thought. The man had every reason to be on all the lists. Jumping to conclusions didn’t solve cases.

Neither did assuming anything. One of Dix’s favorite reminders.

Don’t assume. It just makes an ass out of you and me.

Every detail had to be checked. Even if there was a good reason for it to be there didn’t mean it should be eliminated.

For now, the only person he was going to eliminate was himself. But he was damn well going to start checking with the name that not only appeared on all the logs, but also owned the phone number retrieved from Franklin’s phone.

He punched in the call. Voice mail. Didn’t
anyone
answer a phone anymore?

He took a mental step back. Think. Start at the beginning. He re-read the accident reports. The car had been rear-ended off the side of the road and into a tree.

Crap. He replayed what he’d seen at Lou’s garage. He scrambled for his office, went through the old Rolodex, a leftover from Dix’s days. Fingering through the cards, he found Lou’s number.

“Lou. Gordon Hepler. You said you had a bumper repair. Whose?”

“Buzz Turner. Said he’d had a close encounter with a deer. Tried to fix it himself, he said, but decided a new one would be a smarter move. Although it’s not so easy to get replacements for the older models. I told him I could probably fix the old one but—”

“Wait,” Gordon said. “Do you have the original bumper?”

“I was getting to that. Nope. Buzz said he tossed it.”

Little red flags waved. “Thanks. Do me a favor, though. Don’t touch the vehicle. I’m going to get some crime scene guys out tomorrow.”

“Crime scene?” Lou said. “Killin’ a deer ain’t a crime now, is it? Come to think of it, he never said he killed it, just hit it. A kill’d probably have done more damage.”

“Lou, trust me. Lock everything up tight. I’ll explain later.”

“Sure thing, Chief.”

Buzz still wasn’t answering his phone. Gordon called the hot line number for the paper. A recording. Swearing under his breath, he found the home phone for the editor. Buzz Turner was off doing interviews. No, he hadn’t said where. Yes, it was common for him to turn off his phone. Didn’t like interruptions, they interfered with the flow when he had someone talking.

All innocent enough, but the hair on Gordon’s neck prickled. He could prove opportunity, with Buzz’s name on every crime scene sheet. And means, since the murder weapons were already at Vintage Duds. But he had no motive. That Gordon knew of. Yet.

He plugged Buzz into his search engine and called Colfax. “I need your techs to come up here ASAP to examine a car. I might have found the vehicle that pushed Franklin’s car off the road. And I want everything you can dig up on a Bradley Turner, aka Buzz. Including the way he eats his eggs.”

“Your reporter? I know they’re a pain in the ass—”

Gordon couldn’t wait for Colfax to finish. “His car’s in the shop. Says he hit a deer. He got rid of the old bumper, but I’ll bet your guys can find enough trace to connect him to Franklin’s accident.”

“You’re liking him for both murders? A reporter? Isn’t that a stretch?”

“He was at every scene, and was quick to arrive.”

“They always are. Scanners, Hell, that stuff’s all over the Internet. Anyone can listen in.”

“Open your mind, Colfax. What if he committed the crimes? He’d be there.”

“If he murdered the Bedford woman, he’d have been covered in blood. Plus, we figured our killer didn’t come with the intent to kill. He used a murder weapon found on the scene.”

“I know. But maybe he cleaned up. You’ve got a change of clothes in your vehicle, don’t you? I do. And he’s such a damn fixture around here, nobody would look at him twice. Hell, they’d go out of their way to avoid looking at him.”

“Maybe,” Colfax said after a prolonged pause. “The timeline work?”

Gordon checked. “He had time to go home, clean up and be back shortly after our first responder arrived.”

“Like a firebug wanting to admire his handiwork.”

“I think it’s more likely he hoped to find what he was searching for.”

“You figure that one out yet?”

Gordon hesitated. At this point, apprehending a killer, not to mention keeping the Kretzers and Megan and Justin safe, took priority. And he’d warned Justin and Megan that if the information was tied to his investigation, he wouldn’t suppress it. “No, but the connection seems to be some kind of book, or papers.”

“Must be pretty valuable.”

“I guess we won’t know that until we either find it or find him. I’ve got to hook up with Denver.”

“Why Denver?” Colfax asked.

“The Kretzers, Justin Nadell, and Megan Wyatt are there. And there’s a good chance Buzz knows it. Update me on my cell.” He killed the connection before Colfax could get another word in.

Gordon hit the print icon on his computer. While the printer worked, he grabbed his Glock from the drawer and checked his extra magazine.

Chill. What are you going to do? Haul ass to Denver, go in shooting?

He slowed down to let his brain catch up with his gut. He had no proof Buzz had committed any crime. He took three deep breaths.

Call the hotel.

He identified himself, then drummed his fingers on the desk while his call was put through to the Kretzers’ room. When it rang over to the hotel’s voicemail system, he drummed his fingers some more waiting to get connected to the operator again. This time, he asked for Megan.

Another voicemail. “What about Justin Nadell?” The same. His gut twisted. “I’ve got reason to be concerned about the well-being of the Kretzers,” Gordon said to the woman on the phone. “Will you please send someone in your security department to their room? I’ll hold.”

“It might take awhile,” she said. “I can’t tie up the line, but I’ll be happy to call you back.”

And if he agreed, who knew how long it would take, or if he’d ever be able to get her on the phone again. “Then please transfer me to security.”

Gordon repeated his request, keeping his impatience and rising temper in check. Whoever screened calls for security sounded like a cop wannabe who got all his information from watching television and seemed to enjoy being in a position of power. Gordon waited out an interval of vanilla hold music while the man insisted on ringing the Kretzers’ room.

When the man finally came on the line, Gordon tried to remain civil. “I know they didn’t answer the phone. And I understand a guest’s right to privacy. I’m asking someone to confirm they’re not in need of medical attention. Better to err on the side of caution, don’t you think, rather than generate the kind of negative publicity the hotel would get if there was a problem and you hadn’t taken appropriate action? Or should I call the Denver police?”

Gordon set the phone on speaker and tried to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him. His cell interrupted.

“Got something on your reporter,” Colfax said.