Standoff, page 9
He chuckled. “I doubt she’d accept.”
“Of course she would. Now that you’ve gotten rid of that frightful beard, you’re right presentable.”
“I think there’s someone else in the picture now.”
“Jeremy Steele?”
Daisy didn’t miss much, and he nodded.
“Jeremy is a nice man, but being married to him would be demanding. He’s running for the US Senate, and he stands a good chance of getting it. Not sure Brooke is ready to give up her career.”
“You may be right, but I’m sure Brooke is looking for something permanent, and that’s not me.”
“You haven’t always had the best examples in front of you.” Daisy sighed. “I don’t know where your granddaddy and I went wrong with your father. When he went away to Annapolis, his priorities changed.”
“Dad is just who he is,” Luke replied.
“I wish you’d known your grandfather. You’re more like him.” Then she shook her finger at him. “How am I going to get any great-grandkids if you don’t get married?”
The life Luke lived was too dangerous to involve children. Or a wife. “How’d you like a burger from the Malt Shop?”
“Not this late,” Daisy said. “I wouldn’t sleep a wink. Now tomorrow for lunch . . .”
He laughed. “Okay, that’s a date. I’ll be here at eleven with one of their burgers. All the works?”
“Don’t forget onion rings.”
“I won’t.” Luke glanced out the window. Darkness had fallen. Time to get to Rosalie. He brushed a kiss on his grandmother’s forehead. “See you tomorrow.”
He’d almost made it out the door when she called his name, and he turned around.
“Brooke is going through a hard time right now,” she said softly. “She needs you.”
He shook his head. “I’m the last person she needs.”
21
Luke Fereday. For the second time since she’d arrived at Fort Rosalie, Brooke pushed thoughts of him away. She had too much to do to think about him. She looked up and scanned the skies. Stars twinkled against a backdrop of black velvet. The low clouds that had hung around all afternoon had cleared out, just like Luke said. And there she was thinking of him again.
She shook her head and concentrated on what would be happening once Kyle Marlar finished his talk on how to take night photos. Brooke was sure he would have preferred no moon, but the crescent moon should not interfere with the viewing of the meteors when they peaked around midnight. At least the small amount of light from the moon, along with the solar lights she’d placed along the main paths, would help the public return to their spots after Kyle finished.
A breeze from the river cut through the humidity that had her shirt clinging to her back. She stopped to adjust a park service telescope for a guest. The telescopes weren’t needed to see meteors but were available for anyone who wanted to use them for a closer view of Jupiter and Saturn.
“Good crowd. And the solar lights were a good idea.”
She straightened up, surprised to see the chief ranger, Dale Gallagher, sweat beading his round face. It was the first time she’d seen him since her father died. “Thanks. I didn’t know you were coming.”
The district ranger took off his flat-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. Even though Dale was around her dad’s age, he didn’t have a strand of gray hair.
“I had a meeting in Port Gibson this afternoon with Clayton,” he said. “He told me about the event and that you would be here. Since I was so close, I came on to Natchez to see how you’re doing . . . and to see if your intruder had been caught.”
“How do you know about that?” She hadn’t told him about the break-in.
“Clayton told me. Pete Nelson had called him. Besides, you know how information spreads in the park service.”
Yes, she did, thinking of Emma. “I got everything cleaned up and back in place.”
“All of your dad’s files are there?”
“Who knows? It’s not like Dad kept a list of what was in his file cabinets, but if the burglar had found what he was looking for, I wouldn’t have walked in on him.”
“Good point.”
She studied the ranger. Deep lines creased his face, and even though he was still stocky, she could see he’d lost weight. His wife’s illness had taken a toll on him. She followed Dale’s gaze as he glanced toward where Kyle Marlar was speaking.
“Let me know if I can do anything,” he said.
“Thanks. We were lucky to get Kyle for this.”
“It won’t hurt his campaign either,” Dale said.
She’d almost forgotten Kyle was running for state representative again.
He dropped his gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral, but Mary had a reaction to her chemo Wednesday, and we ended up in the ER, then overnight in the hospital. But at least she tolerated her infusion before we left.”
Brooke had assumed something had come up with his wife. “I’m sorry. Is she better today? Did she come with you?”
He rubbed the side of his face. “No. She wasn’t up to it but said to tell you hello. She insists she’s coming to your swearing in, but I don’t know . . .”
“I hope she can. I’ve been meaning to get up to Jackson and visit her,” Brooke said. It was a trip she should have made weeks ago.
“Mary would like that, but call first—some days she really struggles, especially after an experience like Wednesday’s.”
“I’ll be sure to check first.” Dale looked so lost, she almost wished she hadn’t asked. “How long will she have to be on this treatment?”
“The doctors haven’t said. They say it’s her only hope.” His shoulders drooped and he shook his head. “I just wish it weren’t so expensive.”
“Insurance doesn’t cover it?”
“I wish. They ruled it experimental. I’ve appealed, but you know how that goes. In the meantime, it’s out of pocket.”
“I’m sorry.” She’d heard some of the new treatments cost tens of thousands of dollars and was pretty sure Dale didn’t have that kind of money. If only there was something she could say that didn’t sound like a platitude, or worse.
“When do you want to swear me in?” Brooke asked, deliberately changing the subject.
He thought a minute. “This is Friday . . . how about Monday—no, that won’t work. Mary has a doctor’s appointment.” He tapped his hand against his leg. “I have to come back to Port Gibson tomorrow. Why don’t we shoot for tomorrow morning? That way you can start bright and early Monday.”
“Sounds good. Clayton still doing the field training? Or are you?”
“Clayton, unless I hear otherwise from higher up. He learned under your dad, so he knows what he’s doing.”
Dale turned and scanned the fort grounds, still tapping his leg. Something seemed to be bothering him, or maybe it was just his concern about Mary. Or it could be he was checking for potential problems. She followed his gaze, noting the diverse crowd from toddlers to senior citizens. Emma held a clipboard and appeared to be asking a visitor to sign in.
Beyond them, Kyle Marlar talked with several people. He must have finished his talk and soon would be headed to his spot on the bluff. Brooke shifted her attention back to Dale, puzzled that he was so tense.
“By the way, we have a new ranger coming in from the Nashville area,” he said, his gaze fixed on the road.
She hadn’t expected that. “I didn’t think they were filling Gary’s job.”
“You’re taking it.”
“I know, but I thought they were only filling one position, that it would just be Clayton and me.”
“No, the new ranger is stepping into your dad’s old spot.” He still avoided looking at her.
For a second Brooke couldn’t speak. She hadn’t dreamed the park service would fill his job that fast. She’d known they wouldn’t leave it vacant long, but she figured Clayton would temporarily take her dad’s place before officially getting the position.
“When?” Brooke asked.
“Ten days,” Dale said. He finally turned to her, his eyes sad. “Have you thought about applying somewhere else in the park service? It has to be hard, staying here after your dad . . .”
Leave Natchez? She stared at him, stunned into silence.
“I heard your mom might move to Knoxville to be with your sister, so you could probably get a position up in the Smokies. I’d be glad to put in a good word for you.”
“No,” she said, finding her voice. “I want to stay in Natchez. Besides, Mom hasn’t made a decision about moving to East Tennessee.” If Brooke left Natchez, she could never prove her dad hadn’t committed suicide. And she couldn’t depend on anyone else to clear his name.
“Think about it.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in transferring.”
“If you don’t want the Smokies, I know the chief ranger at Yosemite. He’d be a good one for you to intern under.”
“You’re kidding, right? Those openings get snapped up quicker than snowflakes melt around here.”
“You never know,” he replied.
“Thanks, but Natchez is my home. I like it here just fine.” Then she cocked her head. “I don’t understand why you’re trying to get rid of me.”
“It’s just that you’re young. Don’t you want to travel? See new places? You’ve never been away from Natchez except when you went away to college.”
“Maybe I don’t want to travel, and maybe I like being a homebody.” When his expression didn’t change, she said, “You can’t be serious.”
“Your dad was my friend, and I don’t know, I thought you might want to get away from here, start fresh somewhere else. I’ve lived in Natchez, and I know how it is—everyone knows every little detail of your life.”
He had a point there, but that was just Natchez—a small town where people cared, and that meant they were up in your business, but not in a mean way. And she knew everyone was talking about her dad’s supposed suicide, but once she proved the ME wrong, that would stop.
She lifted her chin. “Really, I don’t want to leave here, but thanks for thinking about my welfare.”
“Anytime you want to transfer, just let me know.”
“I will,” she said faintly then turned and scanned the park again.
“How is your mom?” he asked.
“Like the rest of us—still in shock. But you know her. Still doing her own thing, preparing for her showing at the art gallery. When she’s not involved in that, she’s focused on Meghan and getting ready for the new baby.”
“She likes Knoxville?”
“I suppose.” She glanced past him where people were settling into their spots, and her gaze locked on a family gathered together on a quilt, the mom laughing and the dad pointing up as a star shot across the darkened sky. How that brought back memories of her childhood. She shifted her gaze toward a bank of picnic tables illuminated by a string of low-watt bulbs. Jeremy stood talking with another man.
“I see our state senator made it tonight,” she said, surprised that he hadn’t sought her out.
He followed her gaze. “Oh, good. I need to talk to him. See if he can pull some strings with the insurance company.” Dale patted her shoulder and then walked toward the two men.
Brooke couldn’t keep from noticing how Jeremy stood out in a crowd. A head taller than most, his dark hair styled with the precision of a hundred-dollar haircut. He commanded an audience wherever he was. When he was reelected the last time, she’d read more than one newspaper article that touted his popularity with the voters.
She looked closer at the other man. He stood with his back to her, his hand resting on a gun strapped to his waist. Mr. Clean—she’d seen Pete near the gate earlier with a couple of uniformed policemen. Good to know there was plenty of security around.
22
Time inched on toward ten o’clock. He’d seen Marlar trying to break away from the crowd, and he’d taken the back way, using a small, handheld night vision scope to navigate the trees near the bluffs in the darkness. His other night vision goggles gave him a much clearer view, but their bulk made them hard to conceal. When he’d scoped the area earlier in the day, he’d found the only spot away from the crowd where Marlar could set up his camera to get decent shots of the meteors. And that spot was just ahead. He halted by one of the large oaks. Now it was just a matter of waiting for him to arrive.
From the look on Marlar’s face when he exited King’s Tavern, he’d been quite upset that he’d been stood up. He’d followed Marlar long enough to know he was going to Fort Rosalie instead of returning home to dispose of whatever evidence he had.
His hand shook as he brought the scope to his eye. Don’t think. Just act. He’d never purposely killed a man. John Danvers had been an accident. Did Marlar know for sure that he’d killed John? No. He would have used it against him.
Lead lodged in his stomach. He’d read somewhere that killing a second person was easier. Evidently the author of the article had never killed anyone. His jaw ached from locking down on it, and he worked it back and forth, releasing the tension. His heart almost stopped when a narrow beam of light flickered on the path. His wait was over.
He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and used the scope to scan the area to make sure no one had wandered near them. A woman walked toward the bluff but was too far away to see or hear them. He slipped the scope in a pocket—Marlar’s flashlight provided all the light he needed. He removed the suppressor from the other pocket and attached it to the 9mm Glock.
Marlar’s back was to him, and his silent steps on the damp ground went unnoticed. When he was in reach, he squeezed his eyes shut and slammed the butt of the gun against his head. Marlar fell to the ground with a low grunt.
A quick search of the camera bag revealed several memory cards for the camera. Which one? It didn’t matter. He pocketed all of them. He searched the bag once more, pulling out a photograph of him accepting a package from a dark sedan. Sunday night came flooding back. Marlar had definitely been at Emerald Mound. While the photo proved nothing, the Emerald Mound sign and timestamp put him at the mounds not long before John Danvers’s death.
Suddenly, Marlar moved, and before he could react, the older man snatched the photo from his hand. In a knee-jerk reaction, he fired, the muffled pop loud in his ears. Marlar fell back, blood spreading across his chest. He tore the photo out of Marlar’s hand.
Marlar stared straight at him. “Joke’s on you . . . not the only picture . . . copies,” he whispered and then closed his eyes.
He whirled around and raced silently through the trees. Minutes later he broke through the woods and leaned over. Could. Not. Breathe.
Marlar had copies of the photo? He’d killed a man for—nothing? Where could the copies be? Maybe hidden in the camera bag?
He should have brought it with him.
23
Brooke mingled with the crowd, estimating at least a hundred people had turned out. A few were using the telescopes the park service provided to view different planets and constellations, but most were here for the Perseids. She’d have to admit that after Dale swore her in as a law enforcement ranger, she would miss the hands-on aspect she enjoyed now. Brooke loved walking the grounds of the fort that had carried three different names, depending on who controlled the territory, but the first, Fort Rosalie, had stuck.
This place was so rich in history that sometimes she wished she’d chosen a career on the historical side of the park service. Digging into the lives of the men and women who’d settled this area intrigued her. First the Natchez Native Americans, followed by French fur traders, Spaniards, the English—each group had brought something different to the territory.
But it’d been the very last group, the “Kaintucks” as they were called, who made the Trace where she would soon be working what it was. After floating their goods down the Mississippi, they’d walked the trail made by bison and Native Americans to Nashville and then on to Kentucky. Sometimes Brooke drove up the Trace past Mount Locust to a section known as the Old Trace. Looking at the sunken ground, she found it easy to imagine those men walking in leather leggings, making their way home.
A pop jerked Brooke’s attention and she turned around. Molly had her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes wide.
“Ms. Brooke! My balloon popped,” she wailed. “And Daddy said I could see a little bear, but I can’t see anything!”
Brooke knelt beside the small girl. “Do you know where your dad went?”
Molly hunched her shoulders in a shrug. “I dunno. Aunt Cara is watching me.”
Hearing her name, Jeremy’s sister turned from the diaper bag she was digging in. A toddler clung to her leg. “Said he’d be back in a minute.”
Brooke had somehow missed seeing Cara. She smiled at the young mother who had her hands full. “Why don’t I hang around until Jeremy gets back?” she said.
“Oh, bless your heart. I should not have brought the twins.”
Brooke knelt beside the telescope and adjusted the lens. “Let’s see what we can find. Have you seen a shooting star?”
“Almost. Aunt Cara showed me, but when I looked, it was gone.”
When another pop sounded, Brooke looked over her shoulder toward the bluffs. She didn’t see who had the popped balloon this time and hoped whoever thought helium balloons were a good idea would be around tomorrow to help pick up the pieces of latex.
Molly tugged her hand again. “Where’s the shooting star?”
She returned her attention to the girl. “Keep watching and maybe you’ll see one.” Once she had the telescope aimed at the North Star, she showed Molly how to look through the viewfinder. “There. Now you should be able to find the Little Dipper.”
The girl put her hands on her hips. “I thought you were going to show me a little bear!”
“They’re the same thing.” Brooke spent a few minutes patiently explaining about the constellation and how the bear had a really long tail and at the end of it was the brightest star ever.
