TWENTY-FIVE

The building where Len Nevin worked was in Summer Harbor, right in the middle of the downtown area. The street was empty except for a few early tourists. If Kevin hadn’t known the guy was a sleazebag, he would have thought the brick building with its Victorian accents was a legitimate place. Even the sign in the window was discreet with small letters offering to cash payroll checks at the cheapest rates around. But an offer like that wasn’t saying much.

He put his hand on Mallory’s elbow and guided her inside, where the marble floors and Victorian detail added to the high-class ambience. The place almost smelled antiseptic with the scent of some kind of cleaning solution hanging in the air.

“How may I help you this morning?” The receptionist, an attractive blonde in her twenties, sent a perky smile their way.

“We’d like to speak with Mr. Nevin, please.”

“Of course. Could I have your name?”

“Game Warden O’Connor.”

The wattage in her smile dimmed just a bit. “One moment.” She rose and walked down the hall to an office with her high heels clicking on the marble. When she returned, her smile had transformed into a stiff mask. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Nevin will be busy all afternoon.”

“I think we’ll just interrupt him.” With his hand still on Mallory’s arm, he guided her around the receptionist to the office door. The receptionist tried to stop him, but he ignored her and opened the door.

Phone in hand, Nevin looked up, and his expression went dark. He put the phone down. “I can call the sheriff.”

“I’m a game warden. He’ll back me up if you’d care to try.”

Nevin’s pale-blue eyes looked them over before he leaned back in his chair. “I suppose this is about Edmund Blanchard. You’ve dug into the records.”

Kevin disliked him more by the minute. “Smart man.”

Nevin shrugged. “No sense in prevaricating. He came to me for a loan, and I turned him down. No big secret about that.”

Mallory glanced around at the pictures on the walls. “Did he say what he wanted the money for?”

Kevin admired her cool tone and calm manner. “And did you speak with him face-to-face?”

“He filled out an application. He said he wanted to pay back a loan he’d taken out to get his boat, that he’d regretted getting it.”

Mallory swung back around from her perusal of a wall of awards. Her dark eyes were narrowed and focused. “What loan did he want to pay off?”

“I don’t remember where he’d gotten the money originally. I could check his application though.” Nevin picked up the phone and asked his receptionist to bring in the paperwork. “The amount he wanted was much too high for his income to support. I’m surprised the original loaner gave him that kind of money.”

Kevin knew the kind of boat Edmund had purchased was in the two hundred thousand range. “How much?”

The door opened, and the receptionist entered with a file in her hand. She didn’t look at Kevin or Mallory, and her mouth was set in a flat line. She handed over the file and rushed out, shutting the door behind her.

Nevin opened the file. “I could have looked it up on the computer, but I assumed you would want the proof in Edmund’s own handwriting. Looks like he requested two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Kevin saw Mallory’s quick intake of breath. That was a heck of a lot of money. Who would have given Edmund that kind of cash?

Before he could ask, Nevin looked up with a frown. “I think this was probably another reason why I rejected the request. Edmund said he got the money from a private individual, and he wouldn’t reveal the name so I could verify it.” He slid the paper across the desk’s gleaming surface so they could look at it themselves.

“Who would give my father that kind of money? That’s nearly a quarter of a million dollars. He had no way of even earning that much money in the rest of his career.”

Nevin steepled his fingers. “That was my thought too. As I recall he seemed almost desperate to get the money, which made no sense. There was no lien on the boat so it’s not like the situation should have been so important to him. I suppose the person might have been charging a confiscatory interest rate, but then ours isn’t exactly prime.”

Mallory picked up the paper and perused it. “What was his reaction when you rejected his application?”

“He asked me to reconsider and asked how he might convince me. I gave him all the reasons I couldn’t give him the money. Before rushing out of here and slamming the door behind him, he muttered something about his life being over.” Nevin shrugged. “I was sorry to disappoint him because I liked him. But business is business, and it would have been a stupid decision on my part.”

The color drained out of Mallory’s cheeks, and Kevin knew she was mulling over her father’s final comment. Could whoever he’d borrowed the money from have ordered his death?

Mallory stood with Kevin on downtown Main Street. A nearby fudge shop sent an aroma cloud of chocolate their way. She still reeled from hearing about her father’s desperation to get that loan. She had a feeling they were missing something important, but what?

Kevin took her arm and turned her toward the street. “The sheriff’s truck is parked in front of the coffee shop. Let’s go talk to him.”

Woodenly, she let him lead her to the coffee shop. They stepped inside onto wide plank boards. The aroma of roasting coffee wafted through the shop as she looked around for the sheriff. He waved them to his table near the plateglass window to their right.

He looked like a long scarecrow trying to fold himself into a child’s seat. “I was about to call you.” He tipped his head toward a slender woman in her midthirties with short blonde hair.

Her Burberry jacket and slacks were a deep claret that went well with her skin. She smiled back at them but didn’t say anything, as if waiting for the sheriff to introduce her.

“This is Gwen Marcey. She’s the forensic artist I told you about.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Gwen stood and shook their hands before she sat back down. There was a little smear of graphite on her fingers.

“Have a seat,” Colton said. “Gwen has the composite done, and we were just talking about it.”

Mallory slid into a seat and scooted closer. The sheriff’s voice seemed somber, but maybe it was just her state of mind. Nevin’s information had left her reeling. “What did you find in the report?”

Gwen reached for her leather case. “I hope this won’t upset you, but I drew a picture as well to show the placement of the wound. Plus, I wanted to make sure the identification of the skull hadn’t gotten mixed up. I didn’t want to upset anyone if this wasn’t even your mother.” She glanced at the sheriff, and he nodded. She unclasped the brass buckle on the case and pulled out a large, thick piece of paper, then slid it across the table to Mallory.

Mallory looked down at the drawing, and her lips parted. It was amazingly like her mother. The hairstyle wasn’t quite right, but the narrow nose and strong bone structure were a perfect match. Her mother had a tiny chip in one tooth, and Mallory saw that same imperfection in the drawing.

Gwen touched the top of the drawing. “The hair might not be quite right. I looked at hairstyles from that era and guessed.”

Mallory managed a jerky nod. “She wore her hair parted on the other side, and it was straighter. She fought the curl with a flat iron constantly. I’d always told her to give it up and admit she lived by the sea.”

Even though she’d thought it wouldn’t bother her, a lump lodged in Mallory’s throat. “It’s my mom for sure.” She touched the mouth. “Look at the chip in the tooth. The nose is perfect too. It’s definitely Mom.”

The sheriff exhaled and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know quite how to tell you what Gwen found, Mallory.” He glanced at the artist. “Want to explain?”

Gwen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I studied the autopsy photos and the coroner’s report. He expected to see a drowned woman, and that’s what he saw in spite of the evidence.”

Mallory’s heart pounded. “What evidence?”

“In studying the photos, I found a small hole in the cranium. I suspect the coroner blew it off as damage caused by the propeller, but it’s actually a bullet hole. I noticed it in the skull and wanted to see what he made of it in the autopsy. It was just plain missed.”

Mallory gripped Kevin’s steadying hand and drew in a sharp breath. “That’s impossible. My mother drowned during a massive storm. No one shot her. Could it have been damage from the storm?”

Gwen shook her head. “Someone killed her.”

“Could she have killed herself?” Kevin asked.

Mallory gasped and jerked her hand out of his. “What a thing to say! My mother was happy. She wouldn’t do something like that to her family. She loved us more than anything.”

“I know, Mal, but as kids we don’t always know our parents’ heartaches.” He looked back at Gwen. “Any thoughts on that?”

Gwen shook her head. “The bullet went through the back of her head. She couldn’t have reached around and done that to herself. Someone murdered her.”

Mallory felt cold, then hot, then cold again. “Who could have done it? That makes no sense.”

The sheriff shuffled in his chair. “Were your parents having any trouble? You ever hear them fighting?”

“No, and don’t even try to insinuate my father would hurt her. He was out delivering mail that day. I know because I was with him. We got home around three. I started dinner while we waited for her to come home. She never did.”

It felt as though something heavy sat on her chest, making it hard to draw a breath. Murdered. Did that mean Mallory hadn’t been responsible for her mother’s death?