Cait wrapped the tissue around the handle of the knife and picked it up. Looks like a military knife, she thought, noting the green handle and serrated blade. She stared hard at the knife. This looks vaguely familiar.
June held her hand out. “Can I see that metal piece?”
Cait had forgotten she was holding it. She stood and handed it to June.
June grimaced. “Christ on a broomstick. I hope I’m wrong.”
Cait laughed. “What?”
June shook her head, her eyes intent on the object she held.
“At least we know nothing’s wrong with your alarm system,” the technician said, “but don’t hesitate to call if you need service.”
“Thanks. You’ve been helpful.” More than you know.
After the man left, Cait and June went around to the back of the house. “Do you recognize it?” Cait asked, referring to the metal piece. “What is it?”
June nodded. “I think so, but I want to be sure. I’d like to research it. Okay if I take it with me?”
“Sure, and while you’re doing that, I’ll call Detective Rook.” Inside the house, she held the knife close to one of the lights mounted beneath the cabinets. Her gaze dwelled on the initials “HD” etched into the three-inch steel blade. A knot tightened in her stomach. “Impossible,” she blurted. The knife slipped from her hand and pinged against the granite counter.
A slow burn rose in her chest. But what if—
The wall clock struck ten, jarring Cait from her thoughts. She reached across the counter for her cell phone and called Detective Rook.
“Rook,” he answered.
“It’s Cait Pepper. I think I need your help.”
“What’s it about?”
“Someone tried to break into the house in the middle of the night and set the alarm off.”
“It can be windy on that hill—”
“The wind doesn’t leave pry marks on windowsills,” she snapped. “ADT just left. The technician found a knife in a rose bush beneath the window.”
“Now you’ve got my attention,” he said. “Did you call the sheriff’s department?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m glad you called, but remember your property is in the sheriff’s jurisdiction. If they’re overwhelmed with calls elsewhere, they’ll sometimes call the LPD for help.”
“I know.”
“Tell you what. I’ll come out, but their detectives will do any follow-up unless they don’t have time. Maybe an exception can be made since I was previously involved with the estate.”
“Thanks.” Cait appreciated the friendship that had developed between her and the detective during the investigation into murders at the estate a couple of months ago. After another hard look at the knife, she went into the gift shop to examine the windowsills, but found no damage on the inside. Everything on the shelves—drama masks, T-shirts, cards, games, books, puzzles—could be replaced if stolen. Her anxiety was the knife and what the initials meant to her.
He’s dead. I know, because I shot him.
Cait crossed the hall and looked into the second room used as a gift shop. The shelves were filled with more souvenirs—sweatshirts, ball caps, pillows and throws, Shakespeare busts, and other paraphernalia. Having a gift shop in the house where strangers could wander was not an ideal situation, but it would be awhile until a new shop could be built. She walked out and returned to the kitchen to wait for Rook.
When the detective arrived, he was dressed in a dark gray suit and a lavender shirt and tie as if heading to court. Marcus followed him into the house. Rook stood at the counter looking at the knife. “Interesting knife.” He picked it up, careful to hold the handle with the tissue.
Marcus stared at the knife. “Where did that come from?”
“Our burglar’s tool of choice,” she said.
Marcus ran his fingers through his spiked hair. “So that’s why Detective Rook is here.”
“I called him.” Cait knew, even if Marcus didn’t, that he ran his fingers through his hair every time something disturbed him. Like the attempted break-in.
Rook turned the knife over. “Ah, here’s what I like to see but seldom do. All we have to do is find someone with the initials ‘HD’ and match them to fingerprints on the knife.”
Cait doubted it would be that easy. “Let’s go outside. I’ll show you where it was found and the damaged windowsills.”
Rook nodded. “I’ll take the knife with me when I leave.”
She expected Marcus to follow, but as soon as they stepped outside, he took off in the opposite direction. She wondered if it was because of his past record that he still felt intimidated in the presence of police. Cait led Rook around the side of the house and pointed to the windows.
Rook avoided the prickly rose bushes and concentrated on the ground around them. “The grass has been trampled a lot.”
“Sorry about that. I wanted a closer look. The technician also found an odd-looking object.”
Rook turned. “Where is it?”
“June has it. She thought she recognized it and took it to her RV to research it.”
“Who’s June?” Rook asked.
“Sorry. June Hart is a retired actress and is the woman from Ashland who put me in touch with Kenneth Alt. He’s the actor and director at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, the man Tasha would have worked for as his artistic director for the play Hamlet.”
“I remember, he’s the guy who called me to confirm your identity. So how does June Hart enter into this?”
“June and her husband, Jim, were Tasha’s friends and offered to help me with the festival. Their RV is parked in that clearing on the other side of the house where RT parked his trailer.”
“I’d like to meet them after I look at the windowsills.” He snagged his jacket on one of the rose bushes in an attempt to get a closer look. “Good thing you’ve got that alarm. It wouldn’t take much to get in these windows.” He backed out of the bushes. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go see your friends. The next time RT calls, I’ll let him know you have someone staying up here with you.”
Cait was thinking about the knife as they walked and almost missed what Rook said about RT.
“Do you know where he is?”
“No, but I suspect somewhere unsavory.” He smiled. “I think RT calls me because he feels responsible for my brother’s death. RT was in charge of the mission they were on in Afghanistan.”
Cait thought often about RT and why he chose to be a Navy SEAL as a career. He wanted a job where expectations and demands to perform were high and would push him to be the best he could be. The same reason she became a cop after college.
They found June and Jim sitting outside their Fleetwood Fiesta RV in a serious discussion. They stood when Cait and Rook approached.
Cait made introductions. “Detective Rook wants to see that metal object you were going to look up.”
“I’ll get it.” June went into the RV and returned moments later. “It’s a halberd.”
“Never heard of it,” Cait replied.
“A halberd is a weapon used in Elizabethan times,” June explained. “This iron head was probably attached to a long wooden pole. But modern fencing matches, especially those presented on stage, use a lightweight buttoned foil. If a foil needs to be drawn on stage, a scabbard to hold the foil is made from tin piping and covered in leather and used to protect the actor.” She handed it to Detective Rook.
Confused, Cait asked, “A foil?”
June smiled. “It’s a type of sword with a thin flexible blade with a button tip to prevent injuries. The points can be made out of wood and silvered over to look like the real thing.” She pointed to the metal object in Rook’s hands. “I don’t know where that head came from, unless it’s part of Tasha’s collection of unusual period weapons. Audiences don’t know the difference between a foil and the real thing, but the old halberd heads were heavy enough to injure an actor when the halberd was drawn from their scabbards.”
“Impressive. Thanks for the educational information,” Rook said, turning the halberd around in his hand.
“I hope it helps,” June said. She glanced at Cait. “Is something wrong?”
Uncomfortable thoughts swept over Cait. “Someone involved with the festival is my burglar or . . .”
“What?” Rook asked.
Or someone from my past life as a cop tried to break into my house. Before she could answer him, an urgent phone call caused Rook to leave abruptly.