Murder on the Mountain
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However, if the general was murdered, it meant a prolonged investigation by local authorities. A simple suicide would be an open-and-shut case. She could carefully escort the local lawmen through their duties without revealing the real business of the safehouse.
And so, she had decided to change the medals, putting them in proper order. As if this tampering with the crime scene wasn’t bad enough, she’d done more.
Under the sink in the general’s bathroom, she found a pair of latex gloves, slipped them on and returned to the body.
The general’s shoes had been scuffed. A true Marine would never consider himself to be fully in uniform with dirty shoes. She’d removed the shoes from the general’s feet, polished them and put them back on.
Guilt coursed through her veins like poison. How could she have done such a thing? Her life was dedicated to fighting crime, and she was no better than any other criminal, hiding evidence. How could she allow the general’s family to believe that he’d killed himself?
She watched as Paul prowled around the bedroom, being careful not to touch anything. He leaned over the general’s body for a closer look. “This is strange.”
“What?” She halfway hoped that he’d see through her tampering and confront her. “What’s strange?”
“He’s wearing his hearing aid,” Paul said. “If I was going to shoot myself in the head, that would be the first thing to go.”
Her lips pinched together, holding back an urge to confess to him. Not only was she guilty of rearrang-ing a crime scene but she was also betraying Paul, deliberately misleading him.
He asked, “Was his bedroom door locked?”
“Yes.” That much was true. “And we have a security camera in the hallway. I’ve already checked the tape. There was no one who came into or out of his room.”
“A security camera?” He turned toward her. “Why?”
“Security,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Julia knew that most people in nearby Redding didn’t even bother locking their doors. “There was already a lot of security equipment when I moved here.”
“And you still keep it running?” he said. “Have you been bothered by theft? Vandalism?”
There wasn’t much likelihood of anyone sneaking up on the safehouse. If they came within a hundred feet of the property, they’d be met by armed agents.
“I’ve never had any problems,” she said, trying to shrug off his questioning gaze. “The camera came in handy this time, right?”
Paul circled the bed, went to the window and glanced out at the eaves. Julia knew it was possible for the murderer to have come across the roof and entered the general’s room through this window. Such an action would require the expert skill of a rock climber who was accustomed to clinging to tiny ledges. She’d immediately thought of Gil Bradley, the former Navy SEAL who had the look and the manner of an assassin.
If Gil had murdered the general, she didn’t want to shield him from justice. But she had to keep her secret; she couldn’t let people know this was an FBI safehouse.
Paul inspected the double-paned window. The lower half was designed to be pulled up over the upper half in summer to let in the fresh air. “This window doesn’t have a lock.”
“There’s no way to open it from the outside without prying it loose.”
“After the sheriff gets here, I’ll need to check it out.”
“Surely, you don’t think someone crept in here during the night and murdered the general.”
She held her breath, waiting for his response.
“I doubt it,” he said. “There are no signs of a struggle. It appears that the general was shot where he lies because there aren’t blood spatters in the rest of the room.”
“So it’s suicide,” she said.
“Apparent suicide,” Paul corrected her. “We still need to go through the drill. Taking fingerprints. Checking the room for fibers, hairs and tiny spots of blood. I’ll need to interview your guests to see if any of them heard or saw anything unusual.”
“I’d really appreciate if this could be handled with as little fuss as possible. It’s bad for business and—” She paused midsentence. Her gaze turned to the dead man. How could she be scheming in his presence? “God, I sound cold. I shouldn’t be thinking about business.”
“I understand,” Paul said.
“My other guests knew the general. I don’t want to upset them any more than necessary.”
“They’ll probably call off their meeting,” Paul said.
That was what she had expected. But the senator had been adamant about moving forward with their mission; he had no other free time in his schedule. “They’ve decided to carry on.”
Clearly taken aback, Paul said, “Doesn’t sound like your other guests are concerned about the general’s suicide.”
“They’re task-oriented people from Washington. It’s not up to me to approve or disapprove of their decision.”
Her job was to keep them safe. And she’d failed miserably. As she glanced at the lifeless body stretched out on the bed, her heart ached with the weight of her guilty secrets. I’m sorry, General. So horribly sorry. He deserved to have his death investigated. Suicide was looked upon as the coward’s way out. A Marine deserved better.
She felt Paul’s arm encircle her shoulders. Gently, he guided her toward the bedroom door. “Don’t worry, Julia. I’ll take care of everything. We’ll be as discreet as possible.”
Standing in the hallway outside the bedroom, she allowed herself to accept his comforting embrace, leaning her head into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around his huge torso. He was so big and solid.
Though his touch was in no way inappropriate and he patted her shoulders in an almost impersonal manner, she felt a surge of erotic tension. Her breasts rubbed against his chest. She inhaled his masculine scent. Gazing up, she noticed that his chin was marked with morning stubble. Though he was in his deputy uniform, he had to have come here immediately without even stopping to shave.
He was anxious to help, and she repaid him with lies, using him for her own purposes. Julia stepped away from his embrace. There was a depth of meaning in her voice when she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“No need for you to be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”
If only he knew what she’d done. In his warm brown eyes, she saw the glow of kindness. She didn’t merit his friendship. “What happens next?”
“I’ll call the sheriff. He’s not going to be happy. Two fatalities in two days.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Not for a city,” Paul said. “But we’re a fairly quiet little county.”
“I hate to bring this up,” she said, “but there will be media attention. General Naylor was well known. He did commentary on a lot of news programs.”
“Which means the sheriff is going to be talking to the press,” Paul said. “He can handle it.”
She envisioned television trucks with satellite dishes and reporters with microphones. A nightmare! “I really don’t want my lodge to be the backdrop for those interviews.”
“No problem. We’ll evacuate the body to the hos-pital before autopsy. The sheriff can make his statement to the press from that location.”
For that, she was endlessly grateful. The last thing she needed was a mob of curious interviewers crawling all over the safehouse.
“Yesterday,” Paul said, “the general reacted strangely when you mentioned his television commentaries. What did he say? Something about not believing everything you hear. It was like he thought he was being unfairly criticized.”
“Paranoid,” she said. “That fits with suicide, doesn’t it?”
“Did you notice anything else unusual about his state of mind?”
“Other than shooting at rabbits off the deck behind the lodge?”
“Strange behavior,” he said.
“But not typical. The general kept to himself. He got here a day ahead of the others and spent most of that time in his room.”
Paul glanced down at his boots, then looked up at her again. “How much do you know about makeup? You know, lipstick and stuff.”
That question came out of the blue. “On occasion, I’ve been known to use cosmetics.”
“You don’t need that stuff,” he said quickly. “I like the way you look. Healthy. And your eyes…well, your blue eyes are beautiful.”
His gruff compliment took her off guard. Had he really said that she was beautiful? Her eyes were beautiful? Self-consciously, she glanced away. “Thank you.”
“This is about my two daughters. They have an ice-skating performance tonight at the rink near Vail, and they need to put on makeup. That happens to be a topic I don’t know much about.”
She peeked up at him. Though he was trying to scowl, the dimples in his cheeks deepened. Adorable. “I’d like to help you, Paul.”
He waved his hand back and forth as if to erase his words. “Forget it. You have enough to worry about.”
“Tell you what. I’ll put together a little makeup kit for you to take with you.”
“Thanks a lot, Julia.”
His gratitude was utterly sincere. The sheepish expression on his face almost brought her to tears. For the first time in her life, Julia had purposely done wrong. She was lying to this terrific guy, and it was tearing her apart.
Unable to look in Paul’s trusting eyes for one more second, she pivoted and headed down the staircase.
In the kitchen, they found Craig Lennox, the other FBI agent who worked with her at the safehouse. Craig, a computer expert, was nearly as concerned as Julia about the true purpose of the safehouse being discovered. The office on the basement floor—filled with high-tech surveillance and computer equip-ment—was his domain, and he didn’t want anybody touching anything.
His dark eyes darted nervously in his thin face. He nodded to Paul, who he’d met yesterday. “Is there anything I should be doing?”
“Sit tight,” Julia said. “The police will be here soon.”
He held up a videocassette. “I made copies of the surveillance tapes that show the hallway outside the general’s room.”
“For all night?” Paul asked.
“From eleven o’clock when the general went to bed until this morning when Julia opened his door.”
“Nobody entered the room?”
“Nobody,” Craig said. “These tapes are time coded on the bottom. There’s not one second missing.”
Paul took a cell phone from his utility belt and punched in a number on his cell phone. “Jurisdiction can be complicated up here, but your resort is well outside Vail’s city limits so the Eagle County sheriff will be handling this incident. There’s no need to call in the state investigators for a suicide.”
A suicide. Paul seemed convinced. She could only hope that the other county officials would also be satisfied by that explanation.
Chapter Four
That evening at half past five o’clock when Paul herded everybody out of the house, the girls were wearing their sparkly costumes under their parkas. Their black hair was done up in curly ponytails, and their makeup was perfect thanks to makeup kits assembled by Julia and expert help from Abby Nelson. Abby was an FBI agent recently assigned to the Denver office so she could be near Mac Granger, a homicide detective, who was one of Paul’s oldest and best friends.
Earlier today, Paul had called Mac and asked if he and Abby would drive up to Redding for the performance that night. “It would mean a lot to Jennifer and Lily.”
“Count on us,” Mac said.
Though it wasn’t the same as having their mother attend, Paul knew the girls would be pleased to have a decent-sized cheering section in the audience.
Another good friend, Jess Isler, was also coming along. Jess had been staying with Paul while recuperating from a serious injury. Being with Jess—a ladies’man—usually meant there were several adoring females in the vicinity. Jess was on the Vail ski patrol and was so ridiculously handsome that he regularly dated the supermodels and movie stars who showed up on the slopes. Right now, however, Jess seemed to be spending a lot of one-on-one time with a nurse from the hospital who had promised to meet them at the rink.
Paul looked over the entourage. “We should take two cars.”
Jennifer batted her eyelashes. “Me and Lily want to ride with Abby.”
Teasing, Jess clutched his heart. “You don’t want to ride with me? I’m hurt.”
“We see you every day.” Jennifer had already linked her hand with Abby’s. “Mac and Abby drove all the way up here from Denver to watch us skate.”
“But we love you, Jessy-Messy,” Lily said happily. Her lipstick was already smeared. “You go with Daddy.”
“If I don’t see you before the show,” Jess said, “break a leg.”
Lily gasped. “Huh?”
“That means good luck,” Jess said. “It’s an expression. Break a leg means—”
“Everybody knows that,” Jennifer said. “Come on, Lily.”
When Paul got behind the wheel of the Explorer, he surreptitiously watched as Jess climbed into the passenger seat. Six weeks ago, Jess had been shot in the chest. For a while, Paul was as scared as hell, afraid his friend wasn’t going to make it. Though he wasn’t a particularly religious man, he’d prayed hard and long. Jess and Mac had grown up together; they were closer to him than brothers.
So far, Jess’s recovery seemed to be going well, but he wasn’t back to full strength, and he had a bad habit of overexerting himself. That habit was the main reason Paul had insisted that Jess stay with him in Redding even though he owned a condo in Vail. Though it was driving Jess crazy to know there was fresh snow and mountains to be skied, Paul kept him safely on the sidelines.
Jess slammed the car door and turned to Paul. He was pale but grinning. “Where did you get the lipstick?”
“I have my ways.” Paul quickly changed the subject. “You had therapy today. How are you doing?”
“The doc said I could try skiing next week, but I have to wear this girdle contraption to protect my busted ribs.” He cocked an eyebrow. “The lipstick?”
“A lady friend.”
“I knew it,” he crowed. “Who is she?”
“Forget it.” Paul pulled out of the drive and led the way so Mac could follow. “I’m not going to introduce you. Because she’d be all gaga over your skinny butt.”
“Don’t go there, Paul. I’m doing my best to convince Marcia that I’m not a hound dog.”
“Getting serious about her? Maybe thinking about marriage?”
“Whoa, buddy. Marcia and I haven’t even been, you know, intimate.”
Paul offered wry condolence. “Poor you. I guess it’s complicated to make love with broken ribs.”
“It’s been almost six weeks. That’s the longest time I’ve gone without since we were in high school.”
“A little abstinence is good for you,” Paul said. “If you decide to marry Marcia, it’s going to be a day of mourning for the other women of Eagle County.”
“You’re full of crap.”
“Not really.”
Paul was a realist. He’d never been popular with women. In spite of his size—or maybe because of it—he tended to be shy. Then, when he finally spoke, he’d blurt out something stupid. Around women, he was clumsy, always tripping over his own big feet.
All the way from grade school to high school graduation when he, Jess and Mac had been best pals, the girls had flocked around handsome Jess with his streaked blond hair and blue eyes. Mac’s relationships tended to be more monogamous and intense. And Paul was relegated to the role of the perpetual fifth wheel.
It was ironic that he’d been the first one to settle down into a marriage and have kids. And unfortunate that the marriage had fallen apart in spite of his best efforts to hold things together.
“Come on,” Jess said, “tell me who gave you the lipstick.”
“Her name is Julia Last, and she runs that resort where Mac stayed when he was in town.”
“Did you ask her out?”
“Dinner. Next week.” Paul figured he might as well take advantage of Jess’s vast dating expertise. “Where should I take her?”
“That depends. Tell me about her.”
“She’s strong.” That was the first word that came to mind when he thought of Julia. “The first time I saw her, she was chopping wood, handling an ax like a lumberjack. But that’s not to say she’s masculine. She’s got long curly brown hair that smells great. And the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s tall. With an hourglass figure. Full, round hips and full, round…”
His voice trailed off as a picture of Julia took shape in his mind. Throughout this morning’s investigation with the sheriff, the coroner and the ambulance team that removed General Harrison Naylor’s body, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Though she’d obviously been tense, he admired her composure as she served up coffee and muffins all around.
Julia only relaxed after the forensics were done and the sheriff agreed with Paul’s conclusion that the general’s death was a suicide. The note he’d left behind stated his regrets for wrong decisions he’d made in the heat of battle.
“What does she like doing?” Jess asked.
“There are horses at the lodge.” He took a moment to imagine Julia on horseback with her hair flying loose around her shoulders. A very sexy image. “She likes football, but prefers hockey.”
“Just like you.”
“When I’m around her,” Paul said, “I want to tell her everything about me and the girls. Every little detail. At the same time, it’s nice to just be near her. She’s a woman who knows how to be quiet.”
“You’ve got it bad,” Jess said. “Here’s what you do on the first date. Order a catered picnic basket and pick up some decent wine. Then you charter a plane. I know I guy who flies for cheap. And then—”
“What? Charter a plane?”
“Think big. You want to impress the woman.”
“I don’t want her to think I’m abducting her,” Paul said.
“Women like a man who takes control and sweeps them off their feet.”
Paul’s instincts told him that Julia wouldn’t appreciate a lot of fuss. “I think a simple dinner is going to be enough.”
He pulled into the parking lot outside the ice-skating rink, met up with the others and escorted the girls into the backstage area. The new skating rink had been a huge success with lots of kids interested. Backstage, a couple of dozen skaters, ranging in age from five years old to high school, were doing stretch exercises and giggling wildly. There were few other men in this preparation area and Paul made a hasty retreat after wishing Jennifer and Lily good luck.
He returned to the bleachers surrounding the rink. From the way Mac and Abby were smirking, he guessed that Jess had blabbed to them about Julia. Swell.
GUILT HAD DRIVEN Julia from the safehouse. After sitting at the dinner table with the others who had known General Harrison Naylor and had offered respectful toasts to his memory, she had to leave. How could she have tampered with the crime scene? How could she, in good conscience, allow the world to believe this brave old Marine had committed suicide?
She needed to confess, and that need lead her to the ice-skating rink near Vail where she knew she would find Deputy Paul Hemmings. She hoped that he would understand, that he wouldn’t hate her for what she’d done. Inside the arena, she took a seat by herself on the bleachers and watched as these seemingly delicate skaters performed their athletic spins and leaps.
Checking out the audience, she immediately spotted Paul. Unfortunately, he was with Mac Granger and Abby Nelson—two people who knew about the safehouse. No way could Julia face them. It had been a mistake to come here.
As she rose from her seat, intending to slip away before she was noticed, Paul spotted her. He bolted from his seat and came toward her. She couldn’t run away, had to face him.
He took a seat on the bleachers beside her. His huge thigh brushed against hers. “I’m glad to see you, Julia.”
“Did you get the girl’s makeup put on straight?”
“Abby did it.” He pointed back toward the others who were all staring in their direction. “Abby Nelson. I think you know her. And Mac.”
“Yes.” Julia gave them a small wave. “They stayed with me. How are they doing?”
“Good. They’ve got a good relationship. I’ve never seen Mac so open.”
They sat quietly for a moment and watched the tiniest skaters go through a simple routine with only a couple of slip-ups. Julia’s anxiety ratcheted higher with each passing second. In spite of the cold from the ice, she was sweating. Her mouth was dry as cotton. Her feet were itching to run.
“Something wrong?” Paul asked.
She had to face up to what she’d done. “Could I talk to you in private for a minute?”
They climbed down from the bleachers and went toward the area where hot dogs and pretzels were being sold to benefit the Eagle County Skaters. From what Julia had heard, this newly built facility was a tremendous success—booked solid with figure-skating lessons, hockey teams and recreational time. She wished she could enjoy the evening, but the cheers from the audience only heightened her tension. She knew that once she spoke out, her words could never be reclaimed. The secrecy of the safe-house would be in Paul’s hands. “Can I trust you?”
“A hundred percent.”
“Even if I might tell you something that could cause conflict with your job?”
He gave her a friendly little pat on the shoulder. “I guess that depends. If you tell me you’ve got twenty dead bodies buried in your backyard, I’ll probably have to dig them up.”
She’d expected that response. Paul was a deputy, sworn to defend the law. And so was she. “It’s about the resort.”
“I’m listening.”
“My resort offers something more than lodging and meals.” She bit her lip. Now or never. Just tell him. “I’m running an FBI safehouse.”
“You’re an FBI agent?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t seem surprised in the least. Instead, his expression was visibly more relaxed. “That’s a relief.”
“You suspected something?”
“You’ve got surveillance cameras all over the damn place, and your employees wear shoulder holsters. Mac was real secretive about the resort when he was staying there.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “I was worried that you might be protecting a bad secret.”
“Twenty bodies buried in the backyard?”
“Something like that.”
“Nobody else can know about this.”
“Understood. A safehouse isn’t much good if everybody knows it’s there.” He took both her hands in his and gave a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Julia. Your secret is safe with me.”
Suddenly, his head jerked up. “That’s Jennifer’s music. Come on, we have to see her routine.”
As they hustled back to the rink, her emotions were in turmoil. She’d taken the first step toward the truth. Would Paul be equally sanguine with her confession about tampering with crime-scene evidence?
The music was “I Enjoy Being a Girl.” Four slender young skaters, dressed in pink-sequined leotards with short skirts, took the ice. Holding hands they skated in a figure eight.
“The one in front,” Paul said, “that’s my Jennifer.”
“I can tell.” Jennifer had her father’s black hair and dark eyes. And his dimples. “She looks like you.”
“God, I hope not.”
She glanced up at his profile. Every bit of his attention focused on the ice as he watched the skaters glide to the center. Each did a spin. Then a spread-eagle leap. After his Jennifer successfully completed her double axel, Paul gave a cheer and pumped his fist. “She did it. Damn, I’m glad. There’d be no living with the girl if she slipped up.”
He applauded enthusiastically as the routine completed and the skaters left the ice, then he turned to Julia. “That’s all for my kids until the grand finale. Can I buy you a hot dog?”
She nodded, wishing that she could relax and share the joy of this proud father. Though Paul was a deputy who carried a gun and dealt with crime, everything about him seemed wonderfully sane and normal—the very opposite of her daily routine.
At the safehouse, there was constant surveillance, the ever-present threat of danger. She was always looking over her shoulder. Especially now, with her suspicion that the general had been murdered.