Shake Down, page 15
“I’ll do it.” Shane lifted a volunteering hand. “I’ve seen plenty of bodies in my day, but I’d just as soon spare Janice.”
The chief narrowed his eyes and Mitch snorted.
“No choice involved here,” Close said. “This is a murder investigation, and the body was discovered on this property, Ms. Swenson.”
“Murder!” Icy fingertips slid across Janice’s skin. Her arms pebbled with goose bumps, and she hugged herself. “How...? Who found the...the body?” She forced the questions between stiff lips.
“Was it the DEA agent?” Shane jerked his head toward the U.S. government vehicle.
Officer Mitch frowned with mouth tight shut, but Chief Close nodded toward the cottage. “Your dog, Mr. Gillum.”
“But he was chained up.”
“When Agent Durand arrived to follow up on the report of drugs found on these premises, the dog was loose and barking up a frenzy on the beach. The agent went down there to see if the animal was in distress and if he should call the humane society. The dog was standing guard over the remains, chasing scavenging gulls away.”
Bitter bile choked Janice at the mental picture. And she would have to look at the body? An arm stole around her shoulder and Janice leaned into Shane’s solid comfort.
A low rumble announced the appearance of a gurney at the top of the beach path, a zippered body bag its ominous cargo. A man and a woman dressed in EMT uniforms trundled the gurney toward the ambulance.
Chief Close motioned Janice and Shane to follow him. He led them on a trajectory to intercept the gurney. The EMTs halted their progress.
The chief unzipped the bag. “Do you know this person?”
Janice hung back, but Shane stepped closer. His shoulders stiffened. Janice held her breath. Please God, not someone we know.
“It’s Moe,” Shane pronounced, tone flat.
“Moe?” Janice burst out. “Who’s that?”
Chief Close forestalled Shane’s answer with a sharp look then directed Janice to view the body. Fists clenched, she crept nearer and looked into the pasty blue face. At least the eyes weren’t open and staring, and the gulls had not attacked the facial features. The corpse looked normal except for a little bloating, the unnatural color and a round, dark hole in the middle of the forehead. No guesswork was needed to conclude foul play.
“That’s one of the three workers from the Vineyard Haven lumberyard that helped demolish the old porch on the cottage. I can’t recall his name, but I don’t think it was Moe.”
“It wasn’t.” Shane spoke up. “That was my mental nickname for him. Those guys were near doppelgängers for the Three Stooges. This one was Moe. I don’t remember his real name, either.”
“Thank you,” the chief said and zipped the bag.
The noise sizzled across Janice’s nerves. “May I go sit down somewhere? I’m not feeling so well.”
“You can go inside, but remain available for further questions.”
“I think I may know something,” Shane said. “But I’m not sure it will help all that much.”
Officer Mitch’s pen perked up.
“Go ahead.” Chief Close nodded.
“When I left here the night of the storm, shortly before the weather hit, I thought I saw a sudden flash of light out on the water. Maybe a couple hundred feet from shore. It wasn’t lightning, but it could have been a muzzle flash from a discharging firearm.”
“Did you hear a gunshot?”
“I didn’t hear anything but thunder rumbling in the distance.”
“All right. Stay on the premises until we release you.”
“Will do.”
Shane’s hand on Janice’s elbow guided her toward the cottage. At the bottom of the porch steps, he picked up the end of the snapped chain and showed it to her.
“Atlas lives up to his name in the strength department,” she said.
Shane shook his head. “Amazing! Those gulls, and maybe scents we humans couldn’t pick up, must have been driving him crazy.”
Janice wrinkled her nose. “I hate to say it, but I thought I smelled a faint odor of rot this morning before we left. I assumed it came from all the seaweed washed up on the beach.”
Inside the cottage Atlas greeted them with enthusiastic tail wags and affectionate licks on the hands that ruffled his fur.
“Good boy,” Shane said as he snapped the trailing end of the broken chain loose from the dog’s collar. “You don’t know it, but you did a great thing by guarding that guy’s body.”
Janice seconded the praise and awarded Atlas extra ear scratches. Finally she met the questioning gaze Shane had fixed on her.
“You okay?” he asked. “You look pretty pale.”
“I feel pretty pale. I think I’m officially overwhelmed. I’m tempted to leave the island. It would be so nice to regroup in a different atmosphere.”
His nod was grim. “I’d be on the next ferry with you, but I doubt we’ll be free to take a sabbatical from Martha’s Vineyard until they’ve eliminated us as persons of interest.”
Janice sighed. “It was just a thought. I absolutely hate the idea of being driven away from here before I’ve finished my job. If I gave in now, I wonder if I’d get up the gumption to come back. That would feel like...defeat.”
A sharp rap sounded at the door and Shane answered it. Janice caught a glimpse of a medium-tall man, a bit on the heavy side, dressed in a sports coat and chinos. The man flipped open a badge case then slapped it shut.
“You’d be the DEA agent,” Shane said and stepped aside for the agent to enter.
“Ed Durand,” the man said. “I understand you discovered a packet of heroin on the property?”
Janice sank into one of the lawn chairs that remained the only seats in the house. “Shane, would you mind giving the agent the grand tour? I’ll hang here with Atlas.”
The dog placed his big head on her lap. Her hand automatically settled on the animal’s neck and began rubbing behind his ears. Atlas’s huge brown eyes drifted shut and he emitted a long doggy sigh. At least someone around here was relaxed and contented.
She wasn’t too concerned that she might be arrested for something she hadn’t done, though such things did happen. No, the disaster that loomed on her horizon scared her more than the off chance of an orange jumpsuit.
A murder case on top of a drug investigation was certain to expose Janice Swenson’s blood ties to the Moran crime family. Did she dare hope the knowledge of her identity would go no further than the officers in the loop on the case? Or would the information leak and the news services have a heyday unearthing every rotting corpse buried in the basement of her heritage?
Most devastating—what would Shane think? The loss of his esteem would crush her.
* * *
Shane resisted the urge to fidget while Agent Durand studied the stone from the spot where the drugs were hidden. The DEA agent was actually handling the bulky item with gloved hands and was about to bag it in clear plastic.
“I don’t mind telling you we’ve been after a smuggling ring operating through this area. I hope I’m holding a big break right here. We’ll have to fingerprint you and Ms. Swenson for elimination purposes. You don’t have any problem with that, do you?” The man’s sharp gray eyes zeroed in on Shane’s face.
If only his Adam’s apple hadn’t bobbed in reflex to the loaded question. “Can’t say it’ll be the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever done, but I’ll cooperate.”
It was hard to sound casual when a guy’s nerves were strung tight as a guitar string about to snap. The fingerprinting business was going to expose Shane Gillum as Seth Grange. Paramedics’ fingerprints were automatically in the system. How much discretion and understanding could he count on from the officers and agents involved in this mess?
Probably little to none, which meant he was about to become no better than roadkill in Janice’s estimation. Strange that such a prospect bothered him worse than once again appearing on the Moran family’s radar. Maybe their hired gun would shoot him quick and put him out of his misery.
“Do you think the murdered man on the beach is connected to the smuggling?” Shane asked.
The agent lifted a brow. “Too soon to say, but the question does present itself, doesn’t it? What do you know about Ms. Swenson?”
If Shane were Atlas, his hackles would just have risen. “Enough to know she’s as baffled and disturbed by all this as I am.” Had he managed to keep the growl out of his tone?
Dry amusement flickered across the agent’s face. Shane’s spirits plummeted. No, he probably wasn’t hiding any of his reactions from the sharp eyes of the law.
“She’s not an old friend?” Durand’s tone was mild.
“We didn’t know each other prior to our meeting on the island this spring, if that’s what you want to know. Any other information will have to come from her.”
“Fair enough.” Durand smiled, exposing a slight gap between his upper front teeth.
They went up the steep steps to the main floor, Durand cradling his treasure. “I’m going to have the local P.D. dust the surrounding stones for prints, as well.”
In the hallway, Shane turned to the agent. “They should probably dust the north basement window casing on the west side. Somebody broke in through there. We discovered the break a couple of weeks ago when we thought we might be dealing with a mean prankster or some bored kids. We had the window repaired but you might still find prints in the area.”
“What’s this about a prankster?”
Shane filled in the agent on the string of strange events at the cottage, including the reason for the brace on Janice’s wrist.
“Are you guys talking about me?” She appeared in the doorway, crossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the jamb.
“Mr. Gillum tells me the property was booby-trapped when you arrived on the premises.”
She nodded. “We reported the incidents, and the officer took several articles into custody, but the initial assumption was random troublemakers taking advantage of a long-abandoned property. So there wasn’t any kind of in-depth forensic examination. Our statements should be on file.”
Agent Durand frowned. “I’ll be following up with Chief Close. Thank you for your time.”
Janice stepped aside and the agent headed for the front door, jaw jutting.
“You’re not going to tell us to stay on the island?” Shane strode after him.
Janice’s face turned a shade paler, but she didn’t comment on his brashness. The agent turned, hand on the doorknob. Thunderclouds weighted his dark brows, but he squeezed out a cold-eyed smile.
“Is there any reason I should require that from you?”
Janice’s answering laugh held a trace of a quiver, but she lifted her chin. “None whatsoever. Aside from our complete innocence, I have a job to do right here, and I’m not leaving until it’s done. My only plans off-island include acting as matron of honor in my best friend’s wedding in June. I’ll gladly give you my contact information so I can remain available during that time.”
Durand turned a questioning gaze on Shane.
“What she said.” He shrugged. “I’m here for the duration, minus the wedding absence.”
“I appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” the agent said. “I’m issuing no such instruction and will caution the Vineyard P.D. about being too free with handing out restrictions.”
“Thanks,” Shane said.
The agent nodded and left.
Janice blew out a long breath that disturbed a strand of rich chestnut hair that had fallen out of her ponytail and onto her cheek. “Am I imagining things, or is the federal guy a mite peeved with the locals for going light on an investigation that now appears to be connected with drug smuggling and possibly murder?”
“You have an excellent imagination, but I don’t believe you’re exercising it right now.”
“However—” Janice poked a finger at him “—methinks our friendly neighborhood DEA agent is a tad too accommodating to a pair of persons of interest like us.”
Shane snickered. “Picked up on that, did you? Maybe he’s hoping we’ll relax and he can tail us when we go somewhere to meet up with our buddies in crime.”
“In that case, maybe I’ll see Agent Durand at the wedding. I hope he doesn’t try to fingerprint the cake.”
Shane burst out laughing, but quickly changed the sound into a cough. “I love your sense of humor, but I guess this is no laughing matter.”
Janice’s shoulders slumped and Shane kicked himself for letting go of the lighthearted moment. “Can we just bring in the furniture from the back of the Jeep and then grab those showers we talked about? I’ll probably get a lot of reading done tonight, because I don’t know how I’ll manage to sleep a wink.”
“What’s the game plan for tomorrow?”
“Same as it’s always been—keep on renovating the cottage. With more fingerprinting to be done down in that nasty cellar, at least we have an excuse to avoid tackling anything there for a while.”
“So we keep on keeping on.”
“Exactly right.” Her expression changed. “How eerie to think you might have seen the shot that killed that poor man. I wonder what in the world a watercraft was doing off this beach in that kind of weather.”
“In my experience, there are only two kinds of people who will take those kinds of chances. Crooks or heroes like the Coast Guard or firemen or—”
“Or paramedics.” Her voice chimed in softly and her lips tilted upward, gaze alight with a look that thrilled and terrified him at the same time.
Shane melted in the warmth of her smile like a piece of chocolate basking in the sun.
Were they making a deadly mistake in remaining stubbornly in place at the cottage? Events kept escalating. Murder was about as serious as a situation could get. This time, the victim had been someone they barely knew, someone who was possibly involved in the smuggling of heroin.
What if next time the victim was Janice? Shane couldn’t allow that to happen.
Even if he ceased his search for the records Dad swore were on the property, or if by some chance he succeeded in finding them, he couldn’t leave Martha’s Vineyard. His quest to wreak havoc on the Morans and clear his father had taken a backseat to doing whatever it took to protect this maddeningly stubborn, marvelously gutsy woman.
FOURTEEN
Then the bad guys were rounded up, the drug smuggling was ended—at least as it concerned Moran Cottage—and the insanity ceased. That was the mental litany Janice used to calm herself over the next two months whenever the sensation sneaked up on her that around the next corner something bad must lurk.
The murder of Moe had led to the arrest of Curly and the near-arrest of Larry, who was still at large but suspected of having left the country. Of course, those weren’t the trio’s real names, but Janice had picked up Shane’s pseudonyms and her brain wouldn’t discard them.
Who exactly shot Moe hadn’t been 100 percent verified, but Curly claimed Larry had been furious with the jerk for recent carelessness. And, yes, others higher on the totem pole were involved in the smuggling operation, but the authorities had as yet to identify the ringleaders. Unfortunately, Janice was in full agreement with Shane’s rather cynical assessment that it was often the “stooges” who took the fall, while the masterminds slunk into hiding, at least for a while.
Janice bucked her news phobia sufficiently to tune in to a couple of radio news broadcasts, and Shane filled her in on what local television stories contained. News anchors reported a number of details, but what they didn’t report turned out to be the most comforting. They said little of either Shane or Janice. Shane seemed as glad about the omission as she was.
Which of the stooges was behind the “haunting” that nearly scared Janice out of her skin was guesswork, but hardly mattered at this point. Shane voiced some left-handed admiration of Larry as “gutsy” for being the one to point out the porch board had been chopped, not rotted, when the creep had been involved in the sabotage all along. To think that at the time, Shane had mentally praised the lumberyard employee for being an honest fellow!
After a while Janice and Shane ceased letting the recent danger dominate their conversation, and they found more cheerful things to talk about as they made fabulous strides on the cottage renovations. Shane wasn’t as excited about their progress as Janice, but she could understand his low level of enthusiasm when he was meeting with nothing but frustration in his search for whatever Reggie Moran had hidden on the property. Even a foot-by-foot scrutiny of the acreage yielded no disturbed earth any more unusual than a rodent hole or an anthill.
At least Janice was able to leave the place in Shane’s capable hands when she took off for the wedding in Denver. By June, tourist season was in full swing and getting anywhere on the island took two to three times as long. Now, while the aircraft began to descend on her return flight, she looked at Martha’s Vineyard from her airplane window seat. Rays of the westering sun bathed land and ocean in a golden aura. It had been a long day of traveling and Janice could hardly wait to return to the property for some early shut-eye. Hopefully, Shane was already at the airport waiting for her.
Janice’s stomach went buoyant as the plane swooped toward the runway. Were her anticipatory jitters about seeing Shane again? The man had thoroughly gotten under her skin, and Janice had found it a major challenge to hide her personal interest in him from her best friend these past couple of weeks. She probably hadn’t succeeded if she’d correctly interpreted a few assessing stares Laurel had leveled at her the few times Janice had brought up Shane’s name.
It was impossible not to mention the guy if she was going to give anyone the barest update on the progress of the cottage renovations. Shane had played a huge part in making it happen, especially after her tumble down the stairs. Not that she’d mentioned that incident to Laurel. The wrist was fine long before Janice’s return to Denver, so why trouble the bride with tales of dangers past?
The chief narrowed his eyes and Mitch snorted.
“No choice involved here,” Close said. “This is a murder investigation, and the body was discovered on this property, Ms. Swenson.”
“Murder!” Icy fingertips slid across Janice’s skin. Her arms pebbled with goose bumps, and she hugged herself. “How...? Who found the...the body?” She forced the questions between stiff lips.
“Was it the DEA agent?” Shane jerked his head toward the U.S. government vehicle.
Officer Mitch frowned with mouth tight shut, but Chief Close nodded toward the cottage. “Your dog, Mr. Gillum.”
“But he was chained up.”
“When Agent Durand arrived to follow up on the report of drugs found on these premises, the dog was loose and barking up a frenzy on the beach. The agent went down there to see if the animal was in distress and if he should call the humane society. The dog was standing guard over the remains, chasing scavenging gulls away.”
Bitter bile choked Janice at the mental picture. And she would have to look at the body? An arm stole around her shoulder and Janice leaned into Shane’s solid comfort.
A low rumble announced the appearance of a gurney at the top of the beach path, a zippered body bag its ominous cargo. A man and a woman dressed in EMT uniforms trundled the gurney toward the ambulance.
Chief Close motioned Janice and Shane to follow him. He led them on a trajectory to intercept the gurney. The EMTs halted their progress.
The chief unzipped the bag. “Do you know this person?”
Janice hung back, but Shane stepped closer. His shoulders stiffened. Janice held her breath. Please God, not someone we know.
“It’s Moe,” Shane pronounced, tone flat.
“Moe?” Janice burst out. “Who’s that?”
Chief Close forestalled Shane’s answer with a sharp look then directed Janice to view the body. Fists clenched, she crept nearer and looked into the pasty blue face. At least the eyes weren’t open and staring, and the gulls had not attacked the facial features. The corpse looked normal except for a little bloating, the unnatural color and a round, dark hole in the middle of the forehead. No guesswork was needed to conclude foul play.
“That’s one of the three workers from the Vineyard Haven lumberyard that helped demolish the old porch on the cottage. I can’t recall his name, but I don’t think it was Moe.”
“It wasn’t.” Shane spoke up. “That was my mental nickname for him. Those guys were near doppelgängers for the Three Stooges. This one was Moe. I don’t remember his real name, either.”
“Thank you,” the chief said and zipped the bag.
The noise sizzled across Janice’s nerves. “May I go sit down somewhere? I’m not feeling so well.”
“You can go inside, but remain available for further questions.”
“I think I may know something,” Shane said. “But I’m not sure it will help all that much.”
Officer Mitch’s pen perked up.
“Go ahead.” Chief Close nodded.
“When I left here the night of the storm, shortly before the weather hit, I thought I saw a sudden flash of light out on the water. Maybe a couple hundred feet from shore. It wasn’t lightning, but it could have been a muzzle flash from a discharging firearm.”
“Did you hear a gunshot?”
“I didn’t hear anything but thunder rumbling in the distance.”
“All right. Stay on the premises until we release you.”
“Will do.”
Shane’s hand on Janice’s elbow guided her toward the cottage. At the bottom of the porch steps, he picked up the end of the snapped chain and showed it to her.
“Atlas lives up to his name in the strength department,” she said.
Shane shook his head. “Amazing! Those gulls, and maybe scents we humans couldn’t pick up, must have been driving him crazy.”
Janice wrinkled her nose. “I hate to say it, but I thought I smelled a faint odor of rot this morning before we left. I assumed it came from all the seaweed washed up on the beach.”
Inside the cottage Atlas greeted them with enthusiastic tail wags and affectionate licks on the hands that ruffled his fur.
“Good boy,” Shane said as he snapped the trailing end of the broken chain loose from the dog’s collar. “You don’t know it, but you did a great thing by guarding that guy’s body.”
Janice seconded the praise and awarded Atlas extra ear scratches. Finally she met the questioning gaze Shane had fixed on her.
“You okay?” he asked. “You look pretty pale.”
“I feel pretty pale. I think I’m officially overwhelmed. I’m tempted to leave the island. It would be so nice to regroup in a different atmosphere.”
His nod was grim. “I’d be on the next ferry with you, but I doubt we’ll be free to take a sabbatical from Martha’s Vineyard until they’ve eliminated us as persons of interest.”
Janice sighed. “It was just a thought. I absolutely hate the idea of being driven away from here before I’ve finished my job. If I gave in now, I wonder if I’d get up the gumption to come back. That would feel like...defeat.”
A sharp rap sounded at the door and Shane answered it. Janice caught a glimpse of a medium-tall man, a bit on the heavy side, dressed in a sports coat and chinos. The man flipped open a badge case then slapped it shut.
“You’d be the DEA agent,” Shane said and stepped aside for the agent to enter.
“Ed Durand,” the man said. “I understand you discovered a packet of heroin on the property?”
Janice sank into one of the lawn chairs that remained the only seats in the house. “Shane, would you mind giving the agent the grand tour? I’ll hang here with Atlas.”
The dog placed his big head on her lap. Her hand automatically settled on the animal’s neck and began rubbing behind his ears. Atlas’s huge brown eyes drifted shut and he emitted a long doggy sigh. At least someone around here was relaxed and contented.
She wasn’t too concerned that she might be arrested for something she hadn’t done, though such things did happen. No, the disaster that loomed on her horizon scared her more than the off chance of an orange jumpsuit.
A murder case on top of a drug investigation was certain to expose Janice Swenson’s blood ties to the Moran crime family. Did she dare hope the knowledge of her identity would go no further than the officers in the loop on the case? Or would the information leak and the news services have a heyday unearthing every rotting corpse buried in the basement of her heritage?
Most devastating—what would Shane think? The loss of his esteem would crush her.
* * *
Shane resisted the urge to fidget while Agent Durand studied the stone from the spot where the drugs were hidden. The DEA agent was actually handling the bulky item with gloved hands and was about to bag it in clear plastic.
“I don’t mind telling you we’ve been after a smuggling ring operating through this area. I hope I’m holding a big break right here. We’ll have to fingerprint you and Ms. Swenson for elimination purposes. You don’t have any problem with that, do you?” The man’s sharp gray eyes zeroed in on Shane’s face.
If only his Adam’s apple hadn’t bobbed in reflex to the loaded question. “Can’t say it’ll be the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever done, but I’ll cooperate.”
It was hard to sound casual when a guy’s nerves were strung tight as a guitar string about to snap. The fingerprinting business was going to expose Shane Gillum as Seth Grange. Paramedics’ fingerprints were automatically in the system. How much discretion and understanding could he count on from the officers and agents involved in this mess?
Probably little to none, which meant he was about to become no better than roadkill in Janice’s estimation. Strange that such a prospect bothered him worse than once again appearing on the Moran family’s radar. Maybe their hired gun would shoot him quick and put him out of his misery.
“Do you think the murdered man on the beach is connected to the smuggling?” Shane asked.
The agent lifted a brow. “Too soon to say, but the question does present itself, doesn’t it? What do you know about Ms. Swenson?”
If Shane were Atlas, his hackles would just have risen. “Enough to know she’s as baffled and disturbed by all this as I am.” Had he managed to keep the growl out of his tone?
Dry amusement flickered across the agent’s face. Shane’s spirits plummeted. No, he probably wasn’t hiding any of his reactions from the sharp eyes of the law.
“She’s not an old friend?” Durand’s tone was mild.
“We didn’t know each other prior to our meeting on the island this spring, if that’s what you want to know. Any other information will have to come from her.”
“Fair enough.” Durand smiled, exposing a slight gap between his upper front teeth.
They went up the steep steps to the main floor, Durand cradling his treasure. “I’m going to have the local P.D. dust the surrounding stones for prints, as well.”
In the hallway, Shane turned to the agent. “They should probably dust the north basement window casing on the west side. Somebody broke in through there. We discovered the break a couple of weeks ago when we thought we might be dealing with a mean prankster or some bored kids. We had the window repaired but you might still find prints in the area.”
“What’s this about a prankster?”
Shane filled in the agent on the string of strange events at the cottage, including the reason for the brace on Janice’s wrist.
“Are you guys talking about me?” She appeared in the doorway, crossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the jamb.
“Mr. Gillum tells me the property was booby-trapped when you arrived on the premises.”
She nodded. “We reported the incidents, and the officer took several articles into custody, but the initial assumption was random troublemakers taking advantage of a long-abandoned property. So there wasn’t any kind of in-depth forensic examination. Our statements should be on file.”
Agent Durand frowned. “I’ll be following up with Chief Close. Thank you for your time.”
Janice stepped aside and the agent headed for the front door, jaw jutting.
“You’re not going to tell us to stay on the island?” Shane strode after him.
Janice’s face turned a shade paler, but she didn’t comment on his brashness. The agent turned, hand on the doorknob. Thunderclouds weighted his dark brows, but he squeezed out a cold-eyed smile.
“Is there any reason I should require that from you?”
Janice’s answering laugh held a trace of a quiver, but she lifted her chin. “None whatsoever. Aside from our complete innocence, I have a job to do right here, and I’m not leaving until it’s done. My only plans off-island include acting as matron of honor in my best friend’s wedding in June. I’ll gladly give you my contact information so I can remain available during that time.”
Durand turned a questioning gaze on Shane.
“What she said.” He shrugged. “I’m here for the duration, minus the wedding absence.”
“I appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” the agent said. “I’m issuing no such instruction and will caution the Vineyard P.D. about being too free with handing out restrictions.”
“Thanks,” Shane said.
The agent nodded and left.
Janice blew out a long breath that disturbed a strand of rich chestnut hair that had fallen out of her ponytail and onto her cheek. “Am I imagining things, or is the federal guy a mite peeved with the locals for going light on an investigation that now appears to be connected with drug smuggling and possibly murder?”
“You have an excellent imagination, but I don’t believe you’re exercising it right now.”
“However—” Janice poked a finger at him “—methinks our friendly neighborhood DEA agent is a tad too accommodating to a pair of persons of interest like us.”
Shane snickered. “Picked up on that, did you? Maybe he’s hoping we’ll relax and he can tail us when we go somewhere to meet up with our buddies in crime.”
“In that case, maybe I’ll see Agent Durand at the wedding. I hope he doesn’t try to fingerprint the cake.”
Shane burst out laughing, but quickly changed the sound into a cough. “I love your sense of humor, but I guess this is no laughing matter.”
Janice’s shoulders slumped and Shane kicked himself for letting go of the lighthearted moment. “Can we just bring in the furniture from the back of the Jeep and then grab those showers we talked about? I’ll probably get a lot of reading done tonight, because I don’t know how I’ll manage to sleep a wink.”
“What’s the game plan for tomorrow?”
“Same as it’s always been—keep on renovating the cottage. With more fingerprinting to be done down in that nasty cellar, at least we have an excuse to avoid tackling anything there for a while.”
“So we keep on keeping on.”
“Exactly right.” Her expression changed. “How eerie to think you might have seen the shot that killed that poor man. I wonder what in the world a watercraft was doing off this beach in that kind of weather.”
“In my experience, there are only two kinds of people who will take those kinds of chances. Crooks or heroes like the Coast Guard or firemen or—”
“Or paramedics.” Her voice chimed in softly and her lips tilted upward, gaze alight with a look that thrilled and terrified him at the same time.
Shane melted in the warmth of her smile like a piece of chocolate basking in the sun.
Were they making a deadly mistake in remaining stubbornly in place at the cottage? Events kept escalating. Murder was about as serious as a situation could get. This time, the victim had been someone they barely knew, someone who was possibly involved in the smuggling of heroin.
What if next time the victim was Janice? Shane couldn’t allow that to happen.
Even if he ceased his search for the records Dad swore were on the property, or if by some chance he succeeded in finding them, he couldn’t leave Martha’s Vineyard. His quest to wreak havoc on the Morans and clear his father had taken a backseat to doing whatever it took to protect this maddeningly stubborn, marvelously gutsy woman.
FOURTEEN
Then the bad guys were rounded up, the drug smuggling was ended—at least as it concerned Moran Cottage—and the insanity ceased. That was the mental litany Janice used to calm herself over the next two months whenever the sensation sneaked up on her that around the next corner something bad must lurk.
The murder of Moe had led to the arrest of Curly and the near-arrest of Larry, who was still at large but suspected of having left the country. Of course, those weren’t the trio’s real names, but Janice had picked up Shane’s pseudonyms and her brain wouldn’t discard them.
Who exactly shot Moe hadn’t been 100 percent verified, but Curly claimed Larry had been furious with the jerk for recent carelessness. And, yes, others higher on the totem pole were involved in the smuggling operation, but the authorities had as yet to identify the ringleaders. Unfortunately, Janice was in full agreement with Shane’s rather cynical assessment that it was often the “stooges” who took the fall, while the masterminds slunk into hiding, at least for a while.
Janice bucked her news phobia sufficiently to tune in to a couple of radio news broadcasts, and Shane filled her in on what local television stories contained. News anchors reported a number of details, but what they didn’t report turned out to be the most comforting. They said little of either Shane or Janice. Shane seemed as glad about the omission as she was.
Which of the stooges was behind the “haunting” that nearly scared Janice out of her skin was guesswork, but hardly mattered at this point. Shane voiced some left-handed admiration of Larry as “gutsy” for being the one to point out the porch board had been chopped, not rotted, when the creep had been involved in the sabotage all along. To think that at the time, Shane had mentally praised the lumberyard employee for being an honest fellow!
After a while Janice and Shane ceased letting the recent danger dominate their conversation, and they found more cheerful things to talk about as they made fabulous strides on the cottage renovations. Shane wasn’t as excited about their progress as Janice, but she could understand his low level of enthusiasm when he was meeting with nothing but frustration in his search for whatever Reggie Moran had hidden on the property. Even a foot-by-foot scrutiny of the acreage yielded no disturbed earth any more unusual than a rodent hole or an anthill.
At least Janice was able to leave the place in Shane’s capable hands when she took off for the wedding in Denver. By June, tourist season was in full swing and getting anywhere on the island took two to three times as long. Now, while the aircraft began to descend on her return flight, she looked at Martha’s Vineyard from her airplane window seat. Rays of the westering sun bathed land and ocean in a golden aura. It had been a long day of traveling and Janice could hardly wait to return to the property for some early shut-eye. Hopefully, Shane was already at the airport waiting for her.
Janice’s stomach went buoyant as the plane swooped toward the runway. Were her anticipatory jitters about seeing Shane again? The man had thoroughly gotten under her skin, and Janice had found it a major challenge to hide her personal interest in him from her best friend these past couple of weeks. She probably hadn’t succeeded if she’d correctly interpreted a few assessing stares Laurel had leveled at her the few times Janice had brought up Shane’s name.
It was impossible not to mention the guy if she was going to give anyone the barest update on the progress of the cottage renovations. Shane had played a huge part in making it happen, especially after her tumble down the stairs. Not that she’d mentioned that incident to Laurel. The wrist was fine long before Janice’s return to Denver, so why trouble the bride with tales of dangers past?
