Later that afternoon, Cait grabbed treats for Niki and hurried upstairs to her bedroom to call Shep. Disappointed when she got his voice mail, she left a message. While she waited for him to call back, she sat on the chaise and thought back to the tragic event that led to her shooting Hank Dillon and his connection to Calder Manning’s family.
Two years is a long time to wait to avenge the killing of a relative. Was it possible Wally and Calder Manning formed an alliance against me? How well did they know each other? Would Manning sacrifice his career and family for Wally Dillon?
Cait went to the desk and opened her laptop, logged onto the newspaper’s archives, and searched for the bank robbery; the date was embedded in her mind. Soon she was staring at the same grainy picture RT had shown her. She scanned the article but the reporter’s name wasn’t mentioned.
She heard the Skype beep and tapped a key. “I’m here, Shep.”
“Sorry I missed your call. Any word from Calder Manning?”
“No. I was checking the paper’s archives for that picture taken of me during the bank robbery. The reporter’s name wasn’t mentioned. Do you think you can find out who it was?”
“I have a contact at the paper. I’ll ask her and let you know. Is it important?”
“Could be. RT found a copy of the picture in the vineyard. Wally Dillon or his partner must have dropped it when they ran from the police.”
“You think the reporter was Calder Manning?”
“I think there’s a good chance it is. Maybe that’s why he’s coming here. I’d like to know if he was out of the country during the bank robbery before I ask him. Maybe you could find that out, too?”
“Manning’s mother said he was in Afghanistan.”
“Parents are notorious for protecting their children.”
“Good point. I’ll make a few calls when we hang up. If it was Manning, I’ll have another chat with his mother.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He smiled. “I like to keep my ex-partner happy.” He raised his hand. “Back soon.”
Cait watched Shep fade. He had more contacts than a phonebook. If anyone could find the answers, it would be Shep.
Her cell rang. She hoped it wasn’t Calder Manning. She wanted to hear back from Shep before talking to Manning. Relieved to see Marcus’s name, she said, “What’s up?”
“The guy’s here to install your new windshield. Do you want to talk to him or do you want me to handle it?”
“Did you check his ID?”
“He’s legit.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” She found her keys, grabbed an old hoodie from the back of the chair, and pulled it on over her shorts and shirt. Then she slipped her gun into one of the pockets. “Come on, Niki.”
She glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen on her way out. It was nearly four o’clock. Niki followed her and then chased Velcro, who’d been lapping water from a bowl on the back step. She went around to the front where Marcus hovered near the serviceman as he removed the cracked windshield from her Saab.
The man glanced up as Cait approached. The look he gave her made her wish she’d changed from shorts to an old pair of baggy jeans and a man’s shirt.
“This is Cait,” Marcus said. “The Saab is hers.”
Cait read the name on the man’s shirt—Jarvis—and then looked at the white panel truck in front of the garage. The company logo was too faded to read.
The man nodded at the damaged windshield. “Someone take a shot at you?”
“It was a rock.”
“Oh. Won’t take long to fix, then it’ll be good as new.” He turned back to his work.
Cait rolled her eyes at Marcus. “Have you seen RT?” She watched the man go to his truck, take a tool from the side door, and walk back.
“Yeah, he said he wanted to see Jim. Something about that painting on the second floor.”
She frowned. “That’s where you’ll find me, at the RV.” She gave Jarvis one last glance before she walked away. She gripped the gun in her pocket and cut across the front of the house. The vineyard was a constant reminder of what happened to Chip. Niki shot around the corner and stayed close to her. She knocked on the Fleetwood door. “Anyone in there?” She retrieved a treat from her pocket for Niki. “Stay.”
Jim swung the door open. “We’re here having strawberry pie.” He held his hand out and helped her up into the RV.
Her eyes locked on RT sitting in the booth eating pie.
“RT was going to take pie back for you and Marcus,” June said, “but you can have yours now. Do you want it smothered with whipped cream?”
Cait licked her lips. “Yum. It might sweeten my mood.” A corner of her lips curled when she noticed whipped cream on RT’s lips, then she tried to dismiss the lustful thought running through her mind. She slid into the leatherette booth across from him. “The guy’s here to replace my windshield.”
“I know. Where’s your gun?”
“In my pocket.”
June set a slice of pie covered with whipped cream in front of Cait. “I keep telling you she never leaves home without it, RT.”
Jim set a steaming cup of coffee in front of Cait before sitting down. “We were discussing that painting upstairs in the guest bedroom.”
She looked at RT. “I thought you hadn’t seen it.”
“I spent the night there, remember?” He nudged her foot under the table.
Cait felt her face flush as she took a forkful of pie. “The painting’s titled Face in Motion.”
Jim smiled. “I know. I was in the art recovery business many years. RT asked me to look up the artist.”
“Wasn’t easy with only the initial R,” RT said.
“R for Raven,” Cait said. “At least that’s what Kenneth said.”
Jim nodded. “He’s right. Hope you don’t mind that RT invited me to see it while you and June were at the ranch. Did Kenneth say how much he thought the painting was worth?”
Cait thought back to her conversation with Kenneth. “No, only that it was probably worth even more today.”
“I couldn’t put a price on it, but don’t be too quick to hand it over to Kenneth.”
She set her fork on the plate. “Make a guess. Hundreds? Thousands?”
“Who knows? It’s worth what a buyer is willing to pay. If Kenneth knows the artist, maybe he should call her.”
Cait sat back in her seat. “I don’t even like the painting.”
“Well,” June said, “I’d like to think it’s valuable to Kenneth because it’s of Tasha.”
Cait agreed. She remembered how emotional Kenneth was when he saw the painting.
“Earlier paintings often are more valuable than later ones after the artist becomes famous,” Jim said.
“What did you tell Kenneth?” RT asked.
“I said I’d think about it, but I was stalling because I didn’t want to give in too fast.” And I’m not sure the painting is the real reason he’s here. “It’s Kenneth’s silhouette behind Tasha. Were they really lovers, June?”
“Oh, yes, a long time ago, in New York when they were up-and-coming actors. They were like a pair of star-crossed lovers. I don’t think Kenneth ever got over her, and maybe that’s why he’s never married.”
RT wiggled his eyebrows. “How sweet—like Romeo and Juliet.”
Cait laughed, not expecting a Shakespearean comment from him.
June giggled. “Ah, a romantic amongst us.” She winked at Cait.
Cait’s cell beeped. She glanced at the screen. “Shep. What did you find?”
“The picture in the Dispatch came from a cell phone and was forwarded anonymously with a text message saying it was taken at the time of the bank robbery. Sorry, that’s all I was able to find out.”
Disappointed but not surprised, she said, “The paper doesn’t check their sources before publishing pictures?”
“Exactly what I asked my contact,” Shep said. “Same old, same old. Reporters and papers hustling to meet deadlines and be the first to get their stories published.”
Cait sighed. “I’ll ask Manning.”
“Tread lightly until you get to know him,” Shep said.
She set her cell on the table. “You gotta love high tech.”
RT was on his cell with Detective Rook when Cait left the trailer. Niki lay sprawled in the sun at the foot of the step. She slipped her hand in her hoodie pocket and gripped the gun. She noticed the repairman and his white panel truck had left; she was starting to go inside the garage to look at her new windshield when Niki growled.
“Hello,” an unfamiliar voice said.
Cait swung around. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and stared at the tall man standing a little too close for comfort. His erect stance and reflective wraparound shades suggested a military background. “Who are you?”
“Calder Manning. You must be Cait.”
“I was told you would call.”
His voice smooth as scotch, he said, “I apologize, Cait, for not calling, but since it’s late in the day I hoped you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by just to introduce myself.” He removed his glasses and extended his hand.
Cait slid her hand from her gun and shook his. “How did you know where to find me?” The shock of seeing him subsided and she gave him a long, hard look. He was at least six-two, tan, with a runner’s slim build, sandy hair, hazel eyes, and dressed in a Tommy Bahama deep shrimp–colored shirt over khaki slacks. He wore a simple gold necklace and cross that probably cost more than her month’s salary as a crime analyst. In the only picture she’d seen of him, he was in army fatigues and a helmet.
He grinned. “I hope I pass inspection. I have a feeling you did your homework and checked me out on the Web when you heard I was coming to see you. You know I’m a war correspondent. That might explain how I have the sources to locate almost anyone.”
There was a warm likeability about him, a charisma that would have women bidding for his attention. She didn’t trust him.
“I’m here to help,” he said.
Of course you are, she thought. Or on a fool’s errand? “What makes you think I need your help? What advantage do you have that the police don’t?”
A voice ripped through the air. “Put your arms up and turn around!”
Cait spun to see RT with his gun directed on Manning.
Manning slowly raised his arms high in the air. “I’m not armed.”
“Who are you?” RT demanded.
Manning smiled. “Calder Manning. Cait was expecting me.”
“Drop your ID on the ground and step away.”
“No problem.” Manning reached into a back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and leaned down to put it to the ground.
Damn, I didn’t even ask for his ID.
“Cait,” RT said, “check his ID.”
How does RT know I didn’t already ask to see it? She picked up the wallet and was relieved to see several credit cards with Manning’s name imprinted on them, including his Ohio driver’s license and a glossy card identifying him as a war correspondent. She nodded. “He’s Calder Manning.” She handed the wallet to Manning.
“Caution’s always a good thing,” Manning said.
RT lowered his gun. “You were told to call first.”
Manning repeated what he’d told Cait. “I don’t like to waste time on trivialities.”
“You’ve taken a lot for granted,” RT said.
He shrugged. “Sometimes that’s all you have, but this time I knew before I came what I was looking for.”
The standoff between RT and Calder Manning amused her. Manning reeks of confidence. I hope this doesn’t become a war of another kind.