Monday morning, the futile search for Wally deeply concerned Cait. She’d insisted someone check the cave in case Wally doubled back to get the S&W and ammo left there. When they looked, the cave was still sealed. Once again, cruisers were positioned on the road below her house. Unless Wally Dillon was caught soon, Cait worried the local media would descend on her like vultures, demanding to know what the police were doing to catch him. The attention could keep people from attending the festival for the rest of the summer.
Cait turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it. Kenneth Alt was another concern. When he came today, he would expect to see the upstairs. She barely knew him but disliked his pompous, overbearing attitude. But if he found what he was looking for, he could return to Oregon and she’d never have to see him again. She lingered in the shower until her skin turned pink. As soon as she stepped out of the shower, she thought she heard her cell phone ringing. She grabbed her robe from the back of the door and hurried into the bedroom.
“Hello,” she answered, scrambling into her robe.
“It’s Shep.”
She knew him well enough to know this was not a leisurely call. “What’s wrong?”
“Can’t I call just to see if you’re okay?”
“Of course you can.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Everything under control?”
“I wish. Thanks for Wally’s mug shot. It’s been distributed, and none too soon. Chip Fallon, an actor, was found murdered yesterday morning in the vineyard, and I’m positive Wally’s responsible.”
“Christ, Cait,” Shep said. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled the robe tighter, her hand cold as she clutched the phone. “He was strangled with a bolo tie, one of those with a small slider gem.”
“Interesting choice.”
“The rodeo’s in town,” she said. “I’m told they’re available in local stores.” She told him about the drunken man who tried to enter the theater Saturday night. “I thought maybe he returned to retaliate because I kicked him out, but the police didn’t agree and didn’t get his name.”
“You didn’t have this much action when you were a cop.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s right.” She looked out the window and stared at the valley below. “Rook has officers looking for Wally Dillon. Wally’s mug shot will help.”
“Hope so.”
She wiped drops of water from her forehead with the sleeve of her robe. “I’ve been in California two months and haven’t left Livermore. I want to get him so I can shop in San Francisco, go to Fisherman’s Wharf, and ride a cable car before I’m too old to enjoy it.”
“I’ll take you to all those places when this is over. I’d like to get some golf in at Pebble Beach.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Yes, but not when your SEAL is around. Is he the jealous type?”
She laughed. “I’m not sure what type RT is.” She’d never been much for the macho type, having worked with too many of them, but RT was different.
She told him about Niki finding the T-shirt and ammo in the cave.
He chuckled. “I thought it was sealed.”
“Not permanently. Ilia’s been photographing pictographs on the walls. He wants to use them in his next book.” Movement in the driveway caught her attention. She stared down at the lone figure, then relaxed when she recognized Kurt Mathews’s truck and remembered that he’d said he’d be back Monday.
“Cait, Calder Manning is headed to California.”
Cait turned her back to the windows. “That’s why you called?”
“Yes. At least that’s what he said when he stopped by the station this morning. He wanted to talk to someone in the investigative subdivision. The commander referred him to me.”
She wiped her dripping hair from her face. “I thought he might be here already.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Wally is not working alone. Shep, he has guns, and don’t forget the knife. He couldn’t bring them on a plane.”
“Maybe he drove to California.”
She frowned. “Or hitchhiked. What are a couple of extra days on the road? If you get a chance, would you call Wally’s mother and ask if they have family connections in California?”
“I’ll make time.”
“What did Manning want?”
“To talk about you and to let us know you were in danger and that he thought he could help.”
“Really? How would he know I’m in danger?”
“A couple of weeks ago, Wally showed up at the Mannings’ and asked about you. Mrs. Manning gave him your name but didn’t know where you were living.”
“Officer-involved shootings are always on the news. Wally would have seen my name on TV unless he was in jail.”
“Your name was withheld because of threats. Didn’t you know that?”
She sighed. “Oh . . . I forgot.”
Shep continued. “Wally frightened Mrs. Manning and Calder’s three-year-old daughter she was caring for. After he left, she tried to contact Calder, but he couldn’t be reached. He didn’t learn of Wally’s visit until he returned to the States.”
“You didn’t give Manning my address did you?”
“You need to ask? Of course not. The commander did give him your cell number, but not until he did a background check on Manning. York kept him waiting a long time.”
She smiled, knowing how long York could keep someone waiting. “Why come here? Why not just call?”
“He thinks he can convince Wally to drop this vendetta against you and get him to go home.”
“There aren’t any signs of Wally giving up.” She didn’t think for a second talking to Wally would help. He’d already shown his determination to hunt her down and kill her, even with police on the premises. “Shep, it’s not being stalked that concerns me the most, it’s about how experienced Wally appears to be. I’m not so sure about his partner.”
“He’s not a stranger to the criminal justice system.”
“They start young these days. How will I recognize Manning? He’s in camouflage on the Web.”
“Six-two, one-ninety, sandy hair, hazel eyes, and a fresh scar above his right eyebrow. He was calm, cool, and collected, and even more handsome than me.”
Cait laughed. “Wow, that’s saying something.”
“He thought he could hop a flight to California. Let me know when he calls.”
“I will.” She hesitated. “Did you believe him? His reason for coming here?”
“Commander York seemed to.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I’m looking into it, Cait. I’ll let you know what I find. How’s your SEAL?”
“Sticking close,” she said. “He wanted to move into the house, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. So he’s staying in his trailer and Niki is with me.” She glanced at the dog curled nearby.
“Interesting arrangement,” Shep said. “I’ll wait for your call. You be safe.”
Cait dressed and dried her hair. How can Manning find Wally if the police can’t? Or does he already know where he is?
RT motioned to the wall clock when Cait walked into the kitchen. “Sleep in?”
She shook her head. “Shep called.” She went over to the coffee pot and filled a mug to the brim. “Do you remember who Calder Manning is? His parents adopted Wally’s brother, Hank. He claims he’s coming here to talk Wally into going home and leaving me alone.”
“An honorable decision, if that’s his real motive.”
Cait looked at him over the rim of her coffee mug. “You don’t believe him?”
“I didn’t say that. I’ll decide after I meet him.”
Cait filled Niki’s bowls, then sat on a stool at the counter nursing her coffee. She told RT the rest of her conversation with Shep.
RT frowned. “Let’s hope your friend learns something useful from Manning’s mother.”
“If not, what are you going to do?” Marcus said, coming in from the office.
“Good question, Marcus,” RT said.
“I grew up here,” Marcus said. “I can ask around. Someone must know something, must have seen something.”
“Or heard rumors,” she said. “Thanks, Marcus.” Cait stood. “Would anyone like breakfast?”
“You never eat breakfast,” Marcus said, “except toast or cereal.”
“I’m hungry. I need energy to deal with Kenneth Alt when he comes.”
“Sit down. I’ll fix it,” RT said.
She smiled. “I love a man who can cook.”
RT smirked, wiggled his eyebrows, and made her blush. “So when can we expect Manning?” RT asked as he took eggs and bacon from the fridge.
She sat, happy to be waited on. “He’s supposed to call. He doesn’t know where I live.”When her cell vibrated in her pocket, she glanced at the display. “Good morning, Kenneth.”
RT turned and rolled his eyes.
“When is a good time to come over?” Kenneth asked.
“How about eleven?”
“I’ll be there. Good bye.”
“I thought you were through with him,” RT said.
Marcus dropped bread into the toaster. “He’s not so bad, once you figure out if he’s for real or putting on an act.”
Cait laughed. “He’s a stuffed shirt who likes to assert his authority.”
The smell of frying bacon made her stomach growl. Soon they were hunched over their plates, too hungry to talk.
“We could make a deal,” RT said, wiggling his eyebrows again, “about me cooking.”
Cait caught the look that made her tingle all over. No doubt what was on his mind. Her cell rang again. “Maybe Kenneth changed his mind.” Disappointed, she answered. “Good morning, Detective.”
“I hear Calder Manning’s on his way out here.”
“You talked to Shep.”
“He called. I’m okay with it as long as Manning doesn’t interfere with the police. Let me know when you hear from him. I’ll try to come out. In the meantime, I’m sending a couple of officers, so don’t shoot them. They’ll be in plainclothes and have been instructed to knock on your door so you’ll know they’re there. Ask Marcus to find busy work for them to do so they’ll look like they have a reason for being there.”
“Cops always do things not in their job description. I’ll let everyone know they’re coming.”
When the officers arrived and introduced themselves, RT took them to meet June and Jim. Marcus settled behind his computer in his office.
Kenneth Alt rang the doorbell at exactly eleven. He appeared uncomfortable when Cait pressed him again for a reason to tour the house.
“I’m looking for a picture.”
Okay, that narrows the hunt down. “A photo of what?”
“A painting. When Tasha and I were in New York, a lady friend of mine, a struggling artist, copied pictures of famous artists for a living and sold them cheap. When she met Tasha, she asked if I thought Tasha would let her paint her. I said no, because I didn’t think there was a chance in hell Tasha would pose for her or anyone else. Not only did she value her privacy, it would embarrass her.” Kenneth stood in the middle of the front room, his gaze sweeping the walls hung with Shakespearean reproductions. “It’s not here,” he said with a dismissive wave at the walls.
“Let me guess,” Cait said. “Tasha surprised you and said yes. And now you think that painting is in this house.”
He blushed. “It took a month for my friend to finish the painting.” He pursed his lips. “Little did I know the artist painted me in the background.”
“Really? How did you feel about that?”
“I didn’t mind. I’m like a gray silhouette off to the side of Tasha.”
“And now you want the painting as a souvenir?”
He slid his hands into his pants pocket. “Yes. I would like to have it.”
“Didn’t you ask Tasha for it?”
He frowned. “Tasha and I . . . well, we had a history together.”
Cait sensed there was more to this so-called history than a memory of an affair that took place thirty years ago. “Is this struggling artist friend of yours now famous and her paintings are selling for lots of money?”
Crimson crept up his neck. “Yes, but that’s not why—”
“Right,” Cait said. “We’ll go upstairs, but first I need to speak with Marcus.” She wondered how close Kenneth and Tasha had been when they were struggling actors in New York. Were they actually lovers like June said? She stuck her head in the office door. “Marcus, I’m taking Kenneth Alt upstairs to look for a painting. It shouldn’t take long.”
Marcus glanced up with a questionable look and shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”
“Follow me, Kenneth.” She climbed the stairs to the second floor, anxious to get it over with. The room had walls lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves stuffed with books, a leather sofa and footstool, a small TV, and more books stacked on an end table and on the floor. She followed him around the room and watched him peek in the tiny kitchen, bathroom, and guest bedroom. “If your painting isn’t on this floor, it’s not in the house. The top floor is my bedroom, not open for your scrutiny, but I can say there aren’t any paintings on the walls.”
Kenneth walked into the bedroom. Cait watched, thinking he looked like a pricked balloon with all the air going out with disappointment.
Hope faded from his eyes. “It’s not here. Maybe a quick look upstairs—”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
He turned to leave. His head snapped around. “There!” he pointed.
Cait jumped and bumped into the corner of the bed.
“I knew it had to be here!” He clapped his hands together. “Oh, my God.”
A twelve-by-fifteen watercolor hung on the wall over an old cedar chest. Cait had never noticed it because it was unframed, and the pale paint faded into the floral wallpaper.
He smiled, apparently not minding the condition of the painting. He reached his hand out, then hesitated. “May I take it down?”
“Of course.” Cait thought paintings were meant to provoke, but this one didn’t do anything for her. “After it was painted, why didn’t you ask Tasha if you could have it?”
He removed the painting from the wall and held it reverently. “I couldn’t.” The look on his face told Cait how much he cared for Tasha, but was he holding hands with the past or was he here for another reason? “She was so beautiful, so brilliant an actress. I never felt I measured up to her talent.”
Speechless, Cait stared hard at Kenneth. Is that why he left New York and Tasha?
His hands gripped the sides of the canvas. “I didn’t know she was pregnant when I left the city. She should have told me.”
Pregnant?Was he saying he fathered Tasha’s baby?
Oh. My. God.