Made To Be Broken Part 13

Jack drove back to the lodge. I was so furious, I wouldn't be able to see the road clearly.

As soon as we'd walked away from Janie, I'd realized the question wasn't "Why kill Sammi?" but "Why take Destiny?" It had taken every ounce of restraint not to tear back there and throttle a confession from her.

I'd seen those two bottles of premium rye whiskey. I'd seen the satisfied look on her face. And I'd remembered my Internet search last night, thinking about all the people who'd killed their babies when so many others wanted them desperately. Would do anything to have a child. Would pay any price.

Janie had sold Destiny.

She and her new boyfriend had hatched the scheme using her old contacts, or maybe his it was a sure bet any boyfriend of Janie's had paid more than a few visits to the wrong side of the law. They'd had Sammi killed and sold the baby.

Janie couldn't flaunt her new wealth in White Rock, especially right after her daughter and granddaughter vanished. The smart move would be to sit tight until everyone forgot Sammi, then move. But Janie wasn't smart. She had money and by G.o.d, she was going to spend it. So she'd raced over to Benny Durant, eager to sell.

I could barely sit still, fidgeting with my seat belt, waiting until we were beyond the town limits.

"I think Janie killed Sammi and sold Destiny."

I waited for Jack to wince. To tell me that was ridiculous and I was overreacting.

He drove for a couple of minutes in silence, then said, "Yeah. I was thinking that."

"So you agree it's plausible."

"Plausible. As in possible. possible. Not a sure thing. Need " Not a sure thing. Need "

"Evidence. I know that. I may not have any detective work in my past, but I've already learned my lesson about jumping to conclusions. So if it did happen like that, what would be your theory?"

Silence for another kilometer. "Hate to think anyone'd do that. Daughter. Granddaughter. But obviously she doesn't give a s.h.i.t. Meets a new guy. He plants the idea. All she sees? Open bar. Lets him set it up. Takes her share."

"So now we need "

"You need to do your job. Take care of your guests." need to do your job. Take care of your guests."

I released my death grip on the seat belt. "Right."

"Let me work on this. Plan something. Gonna need to move before she does. Monday, right?"

"If she stays that long. We can guarantee she'll be home tonight, enjoying those bottles, but she may decide, come morning, to clear out early and start enjoying the windfall."

"Yeah." He turned to watch a stray dog at the roadside, saying nothing until we'd pa.s.sed it. "Gonna have to be careful. Half the town saw you yelling at her."

"Sorry."

He shrugged. "We'll work it out. Get your answer. Then? She's guilty? Do what you gotta do."

I spent the afternoon rappelling. Being busy helped keep my mind off Janie Ernst, and I was almost thankful for the Previl party's constant barrage of demands. Almost.

After the rappelling came cave exploration. Then dinner. Then a sunset canoe ride, cut short when Ben wouldn't believe me when I said canoes, unlike rowboats, could tip. Fortunately, I was in the third canoe with the Previls' a.s.sociate and his wife the "nice couple," as I'd come to think of them. Unfortunately, when Ben plunged into the icy water, he grabbed the first thing he could reach, which happened to be the side of Ken's canoe.

So we had two wet and sheepish brothers, and two wet and furious wives, one of whom demanded to know why the water wasn't warmer, as if heating it was my responsibility.

Owen helped me bundle the four into warm towels. Then we discovered a handy new use for the hot tub. I even broke out the hard liquor, though I warned them against drinking too much while in the tub.

Once they were reasonably happy, I fled into the house on the pretext of making coffee. I found Jack in the kitchen, filling a thermos with that same beverage. Mugs were tucked into a basket resting beside it.

"Ah, you heard the commotion, did you?" I said. "I was just coming in to make some for them. I'll grab the real cream or the wives will complain."

"f.u.c.k 'em. This is for you. Missed dessert."

I had I'd been too busy warming, then cooling, the wives' pies. Jack had once again taken his meal in his room, but Emma must have told him.

"Come on." He hefted the basket. "Get away while you can."

I took the basket, restarted the coffeemaker for Emma, and followed Jack down to the lakeside gazebo. As I laid out the dessert he'd packed, and poured the coffee, he checked out the structure, commenting on the heater, the sliding screens, and the cushioned wicker table set.

"Nice," he said.

"Thank you."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. He knew I wasn't thanking him for his kind words about the gazebo. I was thanking him because his money bought bought the gazebo. He'd argue it was my money, earned on the job last fall, but the point still hung there, a subject that made us both uncomfortable me for taking his money, and him because he didn't like me knowing who'd financed the job. the gazebo. He'd argue it was my money, earned on the job last fall, but the point still hung there, a subject that made us both uncomfortable me for taking his money, and him because he didn't like me knowing who'd financed the job.

He braced for more, but I let it slide. I had more important things on my mind.

"Are we going to Janie's tonight?" I asked when we were halfway through our pie slices.

"Been thinking..."

His tone made my hand tighten around my fork.

"Interrogating an old drunk?" he went on. "One-man job."

"Sure. If you'd rather stay here, get some sleep, go ahead."

"You know what I mean."

I took a mouthful of pie, chewed, and swallowed before answering. "Do you really think I'm that out of control, Jack?"

"Think this case is. .h.i.tting where it hurts. You feel bad for the girl. p.i.s.sed off because no one cares. Reminds you of Amy."

"The only people I'm thinking of are Sammi and Destiny, and getting justice "

"All right. But still? Tearing you up. Too close to home. If Janie did this?" He shook his head. "Never pulled a hit for free. But I'd do it for this. And I didn't even know the girl. You did. All I'm saying? You need to step back. Before you do something you'll regret."

We finished our pie in silence.

"So what's the plan?" I said finally.

He studied me before moving his plate aside. "Go alone. Make sure she doesn't see me. Change my accent. Tell her I was sent by the boy's parents."

"The Draytons."

"Yeah. Get details before I go. Say they heard Destiny's gone. Want her back. Play it out a bit. Threats don't work? Draytons are offering to buy the baby."

"Skip the threats and head straight for the cash. Greed is the way to Janie's heart. Offer more than she would have gotten, then promise to stage it as a kidnapping, so her partner won't suspect anything and she'll get the whole wad."

He sipped his coffee. "You're good with that?"

I set my plate on his, then fiddled with a stray piece of broken wicker, sticking it back into the weave. "Re mem ber how we played it with Cooper in Kentucky? We didn't want him seeing you, so you stayed offside, giving me backup while I took him down and interrogated him."

"You want to do that? You stay offside?"

I nodded.

"All right." Another sip. "She confesses? You want her gone? Have to go prepared."

I stared out at the lake, watching a loon bob on the waves. If Janie had Sammi killed, did I want her dead? No. That was too easy. I'd rather see her rot in jail and burn up in headlines as a woman who killed her own daughter for profit. That might not hurt right away her hide was too thick but maybe after she dried out, she'd feel something.

"If we get a confession, I'll figure out a way to set the cops on her," I said. "Knowing Janie, she's left a trail so wide even the local idiots shouldn't be able to screw up a conviction."

"If you change your mind..."

"I won't." I looked at him. "But let's not take any body-disposal supplies, in case I'm tempted."

I continued going through the motions, hosting the bonfire, closing the house for the night, staying up another half hour in case guests needed anything. Normally the extra wait is just a precaution in case of emergencies. Most guests respect my need to get to bed if I'm going to be up at six for the jog. Not so with the Previls, who needed towels, fresh pillows, gla.s.ses of water... I was just waiting for them to request a tuck-in and bedtime story.

Jack had moved the truck earlier. So at two, we snuck off in silence. Everything went fine until we reached Janie's house and found the windows dark and her truck gone.

We stood in the shadows, watching the house.

"Guess those bottles were a victory celebration for two," I said. "She must have gone into Bancroft to see her boyfriend."

"We shouldn't follow."

"I wasn't going to suggest it. But as long as the place is vacant, let's take a look."

Jack hesitated.

"We can check for evidence that she killed Sammi or sold Destiny. And, while we're at it, I'll see whether Sammi left anything about that photographer. Maybe a business card."

The last part tipped the balance. Proof that I wasn't single-mindedly focused on my Janie theory. Proof that I was still in control.

We took a quick look around, in case Janie was pa.s.sed out on the sofa or bed, and somehow had remembered to turn out the lights first. Then we split up. Jack took Janie's room. I returned to Sammi's.

I meticulously searched the tiny bedroom, right down to unwrapping every gum wrapper in the trash, in hopes of finding a phone number or name scribbled inside. I was pulling Destiny's baby book off the shelf when a flurry of photos and paper sc.r.a.ps rained down. Two of the pictures landed face up. One was of a party for Destiny, with three candles in a cupcake, Sammi grinning as Kira held a homemade Happy 3 Months banner. In the other, Sammi sat in a Muskoka chair, holding a sleeping baby, scowling, clearly warning whoever was taking the photo that they'd better not wake Destiny. I stared at them both for a moment, then picked up the second the Sammi I knew best and gingerly pushed it into my pocket.

I scooped up the handful of sc.r.a.ps and flipped through them. Sammi's penmanship was atrocious, her spelling phonetic. On the first, she'd written "First dentist appointment 3-4 years." On another she'd scribbled "Chicken pox vaccine 12 months (safe?)."

I read through several more. Each held a tidbit of child-rearing information, a tip someone had told her or she'd heard on TV. Sc.r.a.ps tracing the path of a young woman's desperate desire to be a good mother.

Then I found what I'd been looking for. On one sc.r.a.p Sammi had written four words. Jordan Fifer Model Agency.

I put that into my pocket and tidied up the book. As I did, my gaze fell on Sammi's treasure box. I reached for it, the sudden urge to take it, too, to bury it with her body. Ridiculous, of course. Sentimental tripe. Not like she'd be needing it anymore. And if Janie had her daughter killed, I had every intention of tipping off the police and making sure Sammi's body saw a real grave. Finding her treasures buried with her would suggest Janie regretted her decision, and I wasn't giving her that.

The box had to stay. But whatever happened, I'd make sure Tess got it out before the place was bulldozed.

Now Jack wheeled into the room. "Clean up. Gotta go. Now Now."

"Wha ?"

He grabbed my arm before I got the word out, and led me into the hall.

Through the living room door, a stockinged foot protruded from behind the sofa, unseen when we'd been heading into the bedrooms.

I crept forward, gaze fixed on the dingy white sock. Soon a tattered jean hem came into view. Then a second foot. Then Janie herself, pa.s.sed out drunk.

My gaze traveled up her body, past the stick-thin legs encased in dirty denim. Past the flabby belly protruding from under the shirt shoved up around her rib cage. Past her arms, oddly folded across her chest, fingers bent, as if in a "f.u.c.k you." A final A final "f.u.c.k you." I knew that as soon as I saw her head, askew, eyes still open, tongue protruding from swollen lips, bruise on her cheek. "f.u.c.k you." I knew that as soon as I saw her head, askew, eyes still open, tongue protruding from swollen lips, bruise on her cheek.

"Beat the c.r.a.p out of her," Jack said. "Neck's broken." I supposed I should feel some twinge of pity, but the only emotion that rose was a surge of outrage that someone had robbed me of my best shot at finding out what happened to Destiny.

I returned to the bedroom to put everything back in place. When I came out, Jack was crouched beside Janie's body.

"Couple fingers broken. She have rings?" I paused, recollecting. "Costume stuff, but yes. A few." "Bottle's over there." He jerked his thumb at an empty Crown Royal bottle on the carpet. "One missing, looks like."

I walked over, staying away from the window, and found two empty gla.s.ses and two bottle caps. "So he swipes her cheap rings and an open bottle of rye, shoves her behind the couch, and takes off... in her her truck. Something tells me we aren't dealing with a pro." truck. Something tells me we aren't dealing with a pro."

A snort that was almost a laugh. "Yeah." He straightened. "I'll watch the front. Get out the back. Stand guard for me. Be there in five."

Chapter Nineteen.

The murder of Janie Ernst was so sloppy, you'd almost think it was was a pro, setting the scene to frame her boyfriend. No guy could possibly be that stupid, right? Come over for a Sat.u.r.day night victory drink, leave his DNA all over the empty gla.s.ses, kill his girlfriend for her share of their profits, then drive home in her truck. a pro, setting the scene to frame her boyfriend. No guy could possibly be that stupid, right? Come over for a Sat.u.r.day night victory drink, leave his DNA all over the empty gla.s.ses, kill his girlfriend for her share of their profits, then drive home in her truck.

Sadly, the IQ of the average thug isn't really all that high. Add booze into the mix, and it drops even farther.

The question wasn't "whodunit," but whether we could get to him and the answers I needed before the cops found Janie and followed the four-lane highway of bread crumbs he'd left behind.

When I suggested going after the boyfriend right away, Jack brought up another reason to act fast one I'd rather not have been reminded of. The killer may have left a trail a blind man could follow, but when the White Rock cops found Janie dead, they'd come knocking on the door of the person seen fighting with her earlier that day. Sure, they'd eventually get back on the right track... but only after they'd done what they could to make my life miserable. And once that happened, there'd be no way of getting to Bancroft to find Janie's boyfriend not without a police cruiser or a reporter on my tail.

I tried not to picture Don Riley and his crew on my doorstep, the satisfaction on their faces, the rumors they'd spread, the business I'd lose just from those rumors. I tried not to imagine the press getting hold of it. Even if I wasn't a viable suspect, they'd love the excuse to disinter the story of Nadia Stafford, killer cop.

If only I'd resisted the urge to confront Janie.

"Well, that'll teach me" really didn't seem adequate.