Murder by Design Trilogy Page 17

  “Gilly warned me about your tribal customs and in particular your father. I guess one of the other waitresses, a member of the tribe, warned her that your people would not condone your seeing or having a relationship with a woman from the outside.” Maria didn’t look at Hawk as she spoke, staring out at the ferry’s wake. Her words were so soft he had to strain to hear, but he knew what she was getting at. “Gilly said the woman was probably jealous, that she had seen her trying to get your attention many times.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Maria. Yes, I’m studying to become a lawyer for my people. However, if I choose a woman outside the tribe, I look for them to embrace my decision. They are a compassionate people. We’ve been through hard times but now with the casino on our land we’re beginning to realize a better, easier life. We’re working hard to build a future for our families, but we have to watch out for unfair restrictions on how we run and grow the business. That’s what I’m going to do for them, what I’ve been asked to do for them. Make sure we can continue to grow the business and to prosper.”

  “I know you’re going to be a wonderful lawyer … watch over your people. And see, that’s what I mean about choosing a path that you feel passionate about.”

  Hawk reached for her hand. “Maria, there may be an opening. Don’t get your hopes up. But, even if what I’m thinking falls through, there will be other opportunities. You’re a very smart woman with a flair for business. Because of your warmth and sincerity, clients naturally respond to your suggestions.”

  “Hawk, what are you talking about? Opportunity?” Maria turned to him, giving his arm a gentle nudge. “What?”

  “As you know, Maribell, the manager of the spa, is pregnant. But what you don’t know, unless she said something to you, is that she wants to stay home with her baby. Permanently. We’re looking for her replacement.”

  Chapter 35

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  IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN when Maria snuggled under the covers. Laying her head on the pillow, her eyes were open wide.

  “Gilly, are you tired, I mean really tired? If you are, I’ll be quiet.”

  The top bunk squeaked and then a pair of feet dangled over the edge.

  “Maria, I couldn’t sleep even if you gave me ten sleeping pills. Do you want a glass of warm milk? Maybe if we sneak down to the kitchen we can grab a snack and come back up here. I want to hear about your dinner with Hawk.”

  “Ah… dinner with Hawk. How was the fashion show?”

  “Okay, girlfriend, let’s get that milk. I just hope Agatha doesn’t think we’re intruders and wake up the family with a howl. They haven’t been in bed very long.”

  Giggling, the girls slipped into the house. Agatha was in her favorite spot—front half in the kitchen, back legs in the living room. She opened her eyes but didn’t move her body. Coco was nestled against her and didn’t raise a whisker.

  Gilly quietly heated the milk as Maria fetched the mugs. Anne poked her head around the corner, smiled at the raid, and tip-toed back to bed. A plate of chocolate-chip cookies covered with plastic wrap sat on the clothes dryer until Gilly snatched it. Maria handed a mug to Gilly, picked up the other along with a thermos of the remaining milk.

  The girls settled into the bottom bunk, extra pillows behind their backs.

  “Okay, Maria, fill me in. What happened after I left you at school?” Gilly moved the plate of cookies between them and removed the wrap. They both picked up a cookie dunking the edge in the warm milk.

  “I sent you the text that I withdrew from school.”

  “Yes, I got it. Did they refund any of your money?”

  “Yup, pro-rated for the time I was enrolled. I think that was fair. Then I went home. Hawk drove—

  “Oooh, now you’re talking. I want to hear more. I’m so glad you changed your mind about coming over.”

  “Me, too. As I was saying before your ‘oooh,’ I went home to tell my mom I’d withdrawn from school.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She wished I’d stuck it out longer, but, if that’s what I wanted, so be it. My stepfather was another story. He snipped that maybe now I’d look for a real job. Sound familiar?”

  “Yes, it does, but, Maria, don’t let them bother you. They don’t understand. Let’s change the subject. Back to Hawk. How was dinner?”

  “Gilly, something happened at the restaurant and on the ferry.”

  “The ferry?”

  “Uh huh, we planned to rendezvous on the nine o’clock ferry.”

  “Okay, so what happened? Something bad?”

  “No, nothing bad. Something … I’m not sure how to describe it. Hawk was wonderful when I told him about school. He was sympathetic but in a caring way, not just saying the words. We sat outside on the deck ... it was a little chilly. He bought me coffee. Gilly, he kissed me. He held me in his arms, saying nothing, protective like. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

  “Maria, he is very caring. He certainly stepped right up with his legal advice when I asked. Never hesitated. But I’m worried if you become close to him … you know the—

  “Yes, I know. I even asked him. I told him about the woman who talked to you and what she said about how the tribe is against seeing, or having a relationship with someone outside the tribe.”

  “Oh my gosh! What did he say?”

  “He told me he was becoming a lawyer to help his people, but that if he met someone outside, he hoped they would understand, and, if not, he’d practice law somewhere else.

  “My God, Maria, it sounds to me like he’s falling for you, like he’d already considered the ramifications if he began dating you.”

  “Wait, there’s more … not about him and me, but about a full-time job possibility.”

  “This was some ferry ride. Go on.”

  “He wouldn’t elaborate, but there might be an opening in the spa. I can’t wait to go to work tomorrow, er I guess it’s already tomorrow. You saw my car?”

  “Yes. Sounds like you guessed right on that idea. If you’re offered a permanent job at the spa our hours are definitely going to be different.”

  “Give me your mug. I’ll pour us some more milk.” Maria poured the remainder of the milk, and then leaned back. “Okay, missy, tell me about the show.”

  “Have another cookie, I too have a lot to tell. The show was fun fun fun. I was a real ham strutting around the shop in my ensemble, shedding one piece after another. I was a regular striptease artist.”

  Both girls giggled as they grabbed another cookie.

  “I bet they loved it. Were there a lot of people?”

  “Packed. There were six models but I was the only one modeling my own designs. The rest wore clothes for sale in the store. Stacy put me last in line, so of course I threw everyone a kiss as I slipped behind the curtain. Then. Then, get this. They started chanting for more. It was such a rush.” Gilly dipped the cookie in her milk.

  “You must have been exhausted and here I am jabbering away.” Maria giggled.

  “But wait, I had a call from Skip. He saw a section of the upcoming morning paper and there I was. A Times’ reporter attended the little show and she must have taken my picture.”

  “You’re famous! What else did Skip say?”

  “He liked my new haircut and asked the photographer to send him a picture in color.”

  “Sweet, I mean really sweet, like in special,” Maria said.

  “I think so… he’s coming over late morning for lunch. But you haven’t heard the big one yet. Of course, I can’t do anything about it, but it’s still nice.”

  “Stop stalling. What?” Maria nudged Gilly’s foot.

  “Stacy called. You know the owner of The Working Girl. She said she had three customers who wanted to order my outfit. Not just a piece, like the sequined shell. Oh, no. They wanted the whole ensemble. Very flattering.”

  “Gilly! What did you tell her? Yes, I hope.”

  “Are you kidding? How could I possibly take that on—school, de
signing the five-piece collection for the competition, Helen Churchill’s dress, not to mention increased hours at the casino to pay for my tuition. There’s no way I could sew three outfits.”

  “Maybe not, but I could. I’ll be your first staff member—seamstress and gopher. You call Stacy what’s-her-name in the morning and tell her you’ll do it!”

  Chapter 36

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  A BLACK JEEP TURNED down the Wilder’s driveway and rolled to a stop. Agatha’s head snapped up and without a moment’s hesitation she scampered out to the patio baying, turning in circles, baying again. Skip jumped out and ran to open the patio door. Agatha jumped up on his legs, then circled around his feet whining.

  “Yes, yes, pretty girl. You miss me?” Skip knelt on the green carpet receiving slurpy kisses on his cheeks, ears, and hands as he scratched Agatha’s ears, and sending the gleeful dog into ecstasy with a belly rub.

  Gilly crept up behind them. “My God, you’d think we tortured the poor dog and she’s found her savior.” Laughing, she sat cross-legged on the floor by the united pair. Coco slinked out of the front door and jumped on Gilly’s lap.

  Skip looked over and laughed. Agatha sensing a lapse in her belly rub righted herself and trotted to give Coco a kiss covering her small fur face. Coco playfully swatted a clawless paw on Agatha’s nose.

  “Well, well, turning into a love affair I see,” Skip said getting to his feet. Reaching over he took Gilly’s outstretched hand pulling her up.

  “Oh, for sure, and after that demonstration between master and love-starved canine, I wouldn’t think of separating you two,” Gilly said with a smile.

  “What do you have in mind, missy?” Skip looked down at his Bassett sitting in front of him, her big, brown, adoring eyes gazing up at him.

  “You mentioned the Tea Room, but I thought maybe a long walk to the general store. We can get a soda, maybe a sandwich, whatever you like, and take a stroll on the beach while we eat. Her highness here can dip one of those crazy feet into the water.”

  “Perfect, except for the part of dipping her feet. She doesn’t like water.”

  ───

  STRIDING TO HIS DESK at the newspaper, Skip’s thoughts remained across Puget Sound—Gilly and Agatha. It had been a delightful morning. Smiling at the thought of Agatha bathing Coco’s head with a kiss, he plunked down in his desk chair, pulling it up on tiny wheels with his butt. What really had his heart pounding was the kiss he and Gilly shared standing on the edge of the surf when a wave lapped their shoes. She squealed falling over and he caught her before she hit the water. Without thinking he pulled her into a hot embrace. That was three hours ago—it felt like three seconds. It wasn’t a case of, “Oh my God, now what do I do?” He knew exactly what to do. He had to see her again and the sooner the better.

  Tapping the power button on his computer, he leaned forward, a squeaky hinge giving way to his body. His head in a fog, he stood and ambled to the dregs of the afternoon coffee pot.

  Passing the empty cubicle of his nemesis, Lance Penn, he saw a manila folder lying open, on top was a typewritten sheet with a big headline, “Wellington Gold Robbery.”

  Hesitating, Skip looked around but didn’t see Lance, so he stepped to the desk to take a closer look at the article. Nothing new. He lifted a couple more pages and saw a sheet with a gallery of seven photos. Wellington Employees was typed at the top. The first two pictures were of Philip and Eleanor Wellington. He recognized Mr. Wellington. His picture had appeared in prior articles Lance had written. Underneath their pictures was a man named Sacco, then a cook, a cleaning lady, and a maid. The seventh picture was a man, Jack Carlson.

  JACK CARLSON!

  Was this his Jack Carlson. Strong resemblance. Hair was different—short, blonde. But the eyes, mouth. This Jack Carlson was definitely John Doe. His John Doe who the tipster had ID’d as Jack Carlson. Skip picked up the folder, turned and walked smack into Lance Penn.

  “Hey, there, Skipperino. Whatcha doing in here?” Penn asked in a raspy voice snatching the folder from Skip’s hand.

  “Get off it, Penn. I was passing by and noticed a folder on your desk—lying open by the way—about the Wellington case. Yes, I looked at a couple of the pages and then I saw your rogue’s gallery of the people involved.”

  “So? You take anything?”

  “No, but I recognized one of the men as a murder victim in a case I’m handling. Penn, I’m sure they are one in the same. We need to let Cromwell know, and I’m calling Deputy Kracker, and … who’s handling the case on your end?”

  “It’s none of your business, and my case, I am sure, has nothing to do with yours across the water … in the sticks.”

  “Sorry you feel that way, Penn.”

  Skip turned on his heel, adrenalin pumping, he headed for his boss’s office stopping only to pick up the coroner’s photo of the dead Jack Carlson. Cromwell was on the phone as Skip ran in the door. Cromwell frowned at the intrusion, said goodbye to the caller, and hung up the phone.

  “I trust you have a good reason for barging into my office without knocking, and while I’m on the phone. What is it? Speak up, Hunter.”

  Skip paced in each direction of the cramped office, pulled his hand over his shaved scalp, coming to a standstill in front of Cromwell’s desk.

  “The Wellington gold heist. My guy, Jack Carlson was murdered because of his involvement in the robbery.”

  “Now, how did you come up with that cockamamie idea?”

  “My John Doe, AKA Jack Carlson—remember? Remember the tip? I found Carlson’s condo trashed. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember, but what does that have to do with Wellington?”

  “I just saw a page of photos, people involved with the Wellingtons. Carlson, CARLSON was one of the photos.”

  Cromwell snatched his phone, punched numbers, and barked at his lead crime reporter. “Penn, bring your Wellington folder up here. And, Penn, I mean now.”

  Grumbling about being interrupted, Penn entered Cromwell’s office, saw Skip, and rolled his eyes. “Sy, I guess Hunter told you his crazy story—his silly case somehow connected to my multi-million dollar gold heist.”

  “He did. Let me see that folder.”

  Lance handed the folder to Sy, then stepped back and leaned against the door jamb, looking at the nail on his right thumb.

  “Where’s the picture you’re talking about, Skip?”

  “Third or fourth sheet. There. There. That’s it. Here,” Skip said laying his coroner’s photo next to the folder on Cromwell’s desk.

  “Yes, I see the resemblance. The hair throws it off. Skip, ask the graphic’s department, Sandy’s the best, to put blonde hair on your Jack Carlson and get back here. Tell Sandy to do it now. I don’t care what else she’s working on.”

  “Honestly, Sy,” Lance said. “This is—

  “Go back to your office, Penn. I’ll call you when I have the touched-up photo.”

  Thirty minutes later, Skip rushed back into Cromwell’s office. This time the door was open and Cromwell was standing, hand extended for the sheet in his reporter’s hand. Cromwell laid it next to the gallery of Wellington pictures. Frowning he picked up his phone.

  “Penn, get up here.”

  Cromwell looked at Skip. “Good work, son.”

  “So,” Lance said as he sauntered into his boss’s office. “Not the same man is it.”

  Cromwell didn’t say anything, just turned the sheet around with the gallery of photos. He laid the retouched photo next to it.

  “You tell me, Penn.”

  “Well, there is a resemblance. But I can’t say for sure.”

  “Well I can. Furthermore, if you can’t see it’s the same man then I doubt you can see anything relevant to this case, one of the biggest robberies ever in Seattle, or even in the State. You are off the story, Penn. Give every piece of information you have to Hunter. He now has the lead. The story from here on will appear under his byline.”

  Chapter 3
7

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  SKIP RACED BACK TO his cubicle and made two quick calls. The first to Deputy Kracker informing him that his murder victim was now connected to the multi-million dollar gold heist in Seattle. He told Kracker he’d notify him when new information came to light. As Skip talked to Kracker, his email inbox was bombarded with messages and attachments from Penn—his interview notes plus copies of the articles that had run in the newspaper. No information was received on his research, however. Skip scanned the documents and then made his second call to Mirage DuBois, the lead detective on the Wellington case.

  Not wanting to play his hand without something in return, Skip didn’t spit out that he was now on the case replacing Lance Penn, or that he had information on Jack Carlson. Skip wanted a deal. Reporter Hunter wanted to tag along with the detective, and Reporter Hunter wanted a twenty-four-hour exclusive when the story broke. In return, he would not print anything without DuBois’ okay.

  DuBois reluctantly agreed to the deal—for the time being. But the deal also depended on what Reporter Hunter brought to him. After all, information was a two-way street. Skip then told him how he had connected Carlson to both crimes—his murder, and at one time being employed by the Wellingtons.

  With Skip’s information, DuBois said he was immediately going to pay the Wellingtons another visit. Skip said he would meet him at their estate and bring pictures of Carlson. DuBois in turn warned Hunter to keep his mouth shut, ask no questions, and nothing was to appear in print per their agreement.

  ───

  PHILIP WELLINGTON, HEARING the front door chime, asked Gerald Sacco to accompany his visitor to the library and then to inform Mrs. Wellington the detective had arrived. As Detective DuBois entered the house, Skip ran up and stepped through the doorway on the detective’s heels.

  Wellington greeted DuBois with a quick handshake. Mrs. Eleanor Wellington joined the group, nodded to the detective and the man with him.

  “Who’s he,” Wellington asked nodding at Skip.