The White Carnation (27 page)

“This was written in mid-April, almost three months ago. So where did she go?”

“I'm sure she went to Slocum,” Faye said, convinced there was something about the place in spite of what they'd seen and what Pierce had reported. “Given the dates, it's where she was in November. She spent four days there. This is the evidence the killer was looking for—this and the postcard. I'll bet she surprised him, and he must have drugged her to find out who she'd told about where she was going. That's why she disappeared earlier than the others. She went after him, not the other way around. They knew someone would come looking eventually, and they showed us exactly what they wanted us to see.”

“You know, I've been thinking about Slocum and all the small places around it as possible relocation sites. That café could have been the set of
Alice
. What if it was all staged? If the New Horizon cult is there, they'd behave the way they were told to, wouldn't they?”

“They would, and if that woman wasn't used to making coffee because a lot of the cults shun stimulants like that, it would explain why her coffee was so bad.” Faye smiled. “We need Trevor to have another look at the place, without anyone knowing someone's watching.”

“I agree. Let's get these burgers cooked while I still have coals, and I'll scan and send the note and the letter to Trevor. I'll strongly suggest he get someone else to look at the place.”

• • •

Faye sat in the Adirondack chair, staring into the fire Rob had made. The June night air was warm, and the sky resembled black velvet shot through with diamonds. Rob had gone inside to check in with Trevor. It had been three days since they'd floated her relocated New Horizon theory about Slocum and the possibility Mary had gone there searching for the father of her baby.

The screen door closed, and Rob came out to join her. He handed her a beer and took a seat beside her. The night was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. A wolf—or was it a coyote?—howled in the distance. She loved it here, but she wanted to go back to Boston. She needed to talk to Dr. Chong as soon as possible. Something wasn't right.

“Trevor has sent Pierce and a hand-picked team of undercover agents to snoop around Slocum again. He's convinced the man's on the up-and-up and not the mole. Trevor's not sold on this, but your theory has value, and he's fresh out of other ideas. He's done a little private digging, and despite what Pierce said originally about it being a bedroom community, it's hard to find anyone in Slocum who works anywhere else. He wanted to talk to the photographer at the paper who you mentioned might have come from the area, but the guy quit his job about two weeks ago, and no one can find him. Tell me about him. I told Trevor I'd get back to him later.”

“Jimmy Farley? There's nothing to tell. Besides, you've met him.”

“I have? I don't remember.”

“Yes, you do. If I was on a crime story, he was there, too. He's a bit weird, but he's a genius with a camera. He sees things no one else does. He's the one who took that picture of the dead prostitute in the alley—the one that made the scene look tragic instead of tawdry. I think he's up for an award for that. You called him my shadow. I'm really surprised he quit, though. He loved his job. He must have gotten a better offer somewhere.”

“You're talking about Mr. Personality who dressed like he was in a war zone? He'd sure fit into a survivalist cult. That guy was creepy. I didn't like the way he looked at you.”

She chuckled, secretly pleased by the hint of jealousy in his voice. “Back then you didn't like the way anybody looked at me. Jimmy's harmless. He's a bit eccentric, but a lot of people dress like he does. There's no crime in shopping at Army Surplus. I can call some of the other photographer stringers. One of them might know where he is.”

“No, you can't, Faye. You're still supposed to be in a coma in the hospital. No one can know that you're part of this investigation. Your life depends on it.”

Rob sat on the sofa, reading the paper, covertly watching Faye go through all of the evidence once more. Every now and then, she stopped to make notes on one page or another. She looked tired—did she have a migraine? She was prone to them, especially when the barometric pressure fell. It was hot and humid out. No doubt they'd have a storm tonight.

They'd both been restless lately, impatient and argumentative, but that stemmed from the lack of information from Boston. Trevor hadn't called in almost a week. Surely they'd learned something about the Joker or Slocum in that time.

He and Faye had gone into Saranac Lake for the Fourth of July fireworks yesterday, even though the fourth was still two days away, and she'd been quieter than usual. She wasn't eating or sleeping well, and when he'd commented on her lack of appetite she'd snapped at him. She'd picked up pads and tampons in the village, so maybe it was her time of the month and that was the reason for her lethargy. If she didn't perk up next week, he'd call Dr. Chong.

When they'd returned to the cabin last night, they'd made love, and she'd clung to him with passion and possessiveness as if she were afraid what they had wouldn't last, but he didn't have the words to reassure her.

What did they have? There was the all-consuming sexual attraction, but there was also a friendship now that seemed to include the trust and respect for one another and their jobs they'd lacked in the past. He'd admired her ability as a reporter, but now he understood her drive and what it cost her to focus on a story.

The phone rang, and Faye jumped, startled by the sound.

“I'll get it,” he said, moving to the desk and picking up the receiver. He looked down at the call display. “It's Trevor.”

“Finally, I hope he's got good news for us.”

“Hello, Trevor. It's been a while,” he said. “Any news on Slocum or the Joker?”

“Nothing on the Joker, but we're still looking into costume shops. If he bought the outfit online or at a tag sale, we'll never find him. As far as Slocum goes, Pierce has his team in place, but so far, nothing appears to be any different than it was last time. That's not why I called. I have some information for you on the note that you sent, the one that stopped Faye's mail.”

He'd asked Trevor to look into Tina Jackson and Faye's allegations. The mail issue might not be related to the case, but they'd almost missed Mary's postcard because of it. This case was like an octopus with more tentacles than he could handle. It was impossible to know what was a false lead. Rob listened intently, and as he did, his heart raced. Breathing became difficult, and he grabbed the table for support.

“And she just volunteered all that information?” Rob asked, unable to believe what he'd heard.

“She did. Tom wanted to ask her some more questions, but she asked to go to the bathroom. Since she wasn't in custody, we let her go alone, but damn it, she took off on us. She didn't go back to the paper, and so far she hasn't been home, but when she surfaces, we'll bring her in again. The DA may want to charge her with obstruction, but since he let the matter drop …”

“Thanks, Trevor. I'll take it from here.”

He hung up and turned to Faye, unsure how she'd react to the news. This latest information wasn't really part of the case, and he almost wished he could skip over it for now, but he'd promised no secrets.

“What did he say?” she asked eagerly. “Did they find the place where he rented the Joker costume? I saw your reaction, so don't tell me it's nothing.”

“Nothing on the Joker or Slocum, but there is news I hope will raise your spirits. The handwriting expert confirmed Tina wrote the note to stop your mail.”

“I knew it.” She gave him a self-satisfied grin. “So, can she be arrested for that?”

“Not for that, but don't give up hope. Trevor confronted her this morning, and she cracked like an egg. She's admitted to writing the note, hoping to further discredit you and ruin your career. Then, I guess she was in a confessing mood, because she copped to planting the false story file that almost got you fired.”

Faye stood, her fists clenched at her sides. “That no-good, low-down, rotten bitch! Why?”

“Tom was with Trevor during the interrogation and was quite interested in the answer to those questions since Trevor had no idea what she was blabbering about. Apparently, a guy offered her money, ten grand to be exact, to place a file on my desk that day. She was nosy and peeked at it, almost kept it herself to file the story, but the man scared her, and she didn't dare cross him. She didn't know his name and described him as scary-looking—she's not too flowery for a writer is she? When she realized she'd helped torpedo your career, she was thrilled. She wanted your job.”

Faye rolled her eyes. “What an idiot. I could almost feel sorry for her, if I didn't hate her quite so much right now. My editor may be a pain in the ass, but Sloan isn't stupid. One of the other reporters got the crime beat. She got a few stories out of it, including the one I pitched him before all this happened, but Abel, the main crime reporter, handled all the big ones himself.” Faye went into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and returned to the table. “I should've realized that file wasn't meant for me. You were adamant about not giving me inside information, but you'd said the file contained something special, and man, that photograph was a hell of a surprise.” She sobered and looked directly at him. “After I got over my temper tantrum, I regretted the accusations I made against you. I never really doubted your integrity, but you know me. Admitting I'm wrong doesn't come easily. The minute I opened the folder I knew it wasn't the caterer's file you'd promised me.”

“Why didn't you call me?” he asked, startled by her admission. “I'd have told you it was the wrong folder. Corruption in local politics is nothing new, Faye. The DA knows that and so do I, but I'm sorry you were slapped down so hard.”

“Maybe I've learned a lesson from it. Out of curiosity, what was the surprise in the folder?”

“Front-row tickets to the Neil Diamond concert that weekend. Both folders are still in my bottom drawer. I was so angry and hurt that you'd believe I'd do that to you, let alone that you thought I was a dirty cop, I didn't bother looking into the mysterious folder. And then, you didn't call, and the Harvester showed up, and I was up to my ass in cases in homicide. If I'd looked into it right away, we might've found the truth sooner. If I'd been at the desk … I was three hours early for my deposition—administrative screw-up, but I'm not so sure of that now. I had to be out of the squad room for the plan to work. Whoever gave Tina that money was someone who knew us well enough to know that file would drive a wedge between us. And then, to make matters even worse, my transfer came through with a promotion attached to it. You need to believe I'd never have done something like that to you, Faye.”

“Trusting people has never been my strong suit, thanks to my dad. I expect people to let me down and hurt me. I should've known you wouldn't.” She reached over and touched the scar on his chin. “I said such awful things to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

Rob let her apology wash through him, cleansing him of the pain her accusations had caused. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “Apology accepted.”

She put her head down on his shoulder. “Well, I hope she enjoyed watching me squirm, because she won't get a chance to see it again. By the way, who put the note on that file and then the caterer's file back on your desk?”

“That's what I asked Trevor, and he plans to ask Tina as soon as he can find her again. She disappeared from the station. Since she wasn't under arrest … I have to admit, I hope it isn't one of the guys in vice.”

Faye settled herself more comfortably into his arms. “When this is over, I'm selling the condo and concentrating on freelance work. I may not know where my next paycheck is coming from, but if things get screwed up, it'll be my own fault. She ruined my career and our relationship and for what? She couldn't handle a big story. Hell, she's supposed to be doing an exposé on the dog show world, and even with the research I sent her, I doubt she'll be able to string together a coherent sentence.”

“I have an idea who may have paid her to do it.”

“You mean O'Malley? He denied he sent those roses, but I know it was him.”

“Not O'Malley, Faye. The Harvester. If he chose you that day when you met Tracy Volt, then he had to destroy our relationship before we got married, and he had to make sure we'd never patch it up. What better way than to ruin your career and blame me for it, and then start dropping bodies where I'd find them and have no time for anything else?”

Horror bloomed on Faye's face as she assimilated what he'd said.

She swallowed. “He'd have to have been watching me, watching us, for months. You didn't propose until that Christmas. The wedding was so close …” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Rob.”

He bent his head and kissed her, and she melted into him as if she were afraid he'd vanish again. He deepened the kiss, pouring months of loneliness and frustration into his response. He pulled away slowly, breathing hard, and smiled at her.

“There's something else you should know.”

“What? Did Tina confess to something else?”

He chuckled. “Not that I'm aware of, but you'll be pleased to know Ms. Jackson isn't writing that dog-show story or anything else for the
Boston Examiner
. When he realized Tina had left the station, Trevor called Sloan and explained what they'd learned. When she shows up at the paper, it'll be to clean out her desk.”

“They fired her? Good. That will save me from advocating for it.” She kissed him again. “Anything else?”