Field investigator Lieutenant Ian Conner slammed down the phone, twirled around in his desk chair, clapped his hands together, and said, “Got ‘im!”
Sergeant Johnson pushed the filing cabinet drawer shut, turned and faced Conner. “Got who?”
“Reeves, Robert Reeves, that’s who. At least I’m pretty sure we got ‘im.”
“What happened?”
“That call I just received? Seems a tour boat captain, a Bud Karnes, found a floater about two hours ago in Spawning Run. That’s Reeves’ cove. Captain said his marine radio was busted, had a pregnant woman on board go into hard labor, and he needed to get her to shore fast, so he didn’t haul the body back with him. Didn’t call us when he docked because he wasn’t sure where he saw the body, couldn’t remember the closest buoy marker number. After he dropped off his party, he went back to locate the body. This time he remembered to take his cell phone with him, and he used that to contact the game warden.
“Anyhow, it sounds like our missing Lampwerth has finally surfaced. This is our lucky day.”
“Don’t we need a positive I.D. before we jump the gun?”
“Yeah, but the coroner and the body are on the way in right now. And we already have a copy of Lampwerth’s dental records, which will speed up the identification process. The boat captain will arrive here any minute to give us a statement.
“And get this. A confirmation fax came in earlier. The blood in Reeves’ foyer and the blood on the baseball bat match Lampwerth’s. And the bat belongs to Reeves.”
Johnson said, “And the accountant at Lampwerth International says Reeves was embezzling money from the company. Lots of money. The way I figure it, when Lampwerth found out someone was dipping into the company cookie jar, Reeves lured him to the lake on some pretense or other, killed Lampwerth, disposed of the body, then took a quick trip to establish an alibi. Bet when we check, we’ll find that he flew out of the lake airport. I think you’re right, Ian. I think we’ve got our killer.”
Conner slapped his hand on his knee and said, “We’re gonna make an arrest today.” Johnson just grinned.
“I’m going to Sheriff Rogers with this. Will let Judge Anderson know, too. Buzz me when Karnes gets here.”
“Will do.”
When Captain Karnes arrived a little later, Sergeant Johnson ushered him into the office and motioned for him to sit in one of the folding wooden chairs near the desk. Turning another chair around, its legs scraping on the worn hardwood floor, Johnson sat spread-eagled in his seat, one arm resting on the back of his chair. He leaned over and buzzed Lieutenant Conner.
“Mr. Karnes has arrived.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Mind if I smoke?” asked Karnes.
“Help yourself, Mr. Karnes. In fact, I think I’ll join you.” Sergeant Johnson opened the box on his desk, pulled out a cigar, lit it, and puffed until he was sure it would stay lit. It didn’t, so he lit it again.
“So did the woman have the baby on your boat?”
“I was certain she would, but we made it back to the marina. Would you believe her luck? An obstetrician getting ready to go water skiing was just launching his ski boat when we docked. I was yelling at the top of my lungs for help, and he rushed over. Delivered twin boys right there on the dock.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, it’s the truth. She’s gonna name one after me, and the other after the doctor.”
“Why was she in a boat in the first place if she was nine months pregnant?”
“Her husband said she was only eight months along, so they figured she’d be okay.”
At that moment, Lieutenant Conner hurried into the room, introduced himself, and started questioning Karnes.
Aurora searched through the house again as she looked for any pictures that could pertain to the menacing message she had received thirty minutes ago. Stymied, she flopped down on the couch and sat staring into space.
Maybe there aren’t any pictures. Maybe that call was just a silly, vicious prank. But he knew about the necklace. And where is Sam? He should have returned hours ago. I can’t take the chance that he could be killed.
Fear for Sam gripped her, and Aurora stood up and walked the floor. In her mind she went over every place in the house where her parents had stored pictures in the past. No new ideas came to mind. I’ve never given up on anything; I won’t cave in now.
She again thought about where she had already searched and what she could have missed. She jumped up and rushed to her dad’s workshop in the basement. She wanted another look at the picture frame and the message she hadn’t understood on the frame her dad made. Picking up the finished frame, she turned it over and read again “Ask Wyeth.” Next she inspected the unfinished frame, realizing she’d not checked it earlier. There was a message all right, but also different from those on all the previous completed ones. The words “Phone lines cut” jumped out at her.
She leaned on the workbench and looked again at the two frames, reading “Phone lines cut,” then “Ask Wyeth” aloud several times. She was sure the inscriptions were clues left by her dad.
Aurora laid the frames back on the workbench and raced upstairs with King right behind her. Wyeth. Dad’s collection of books illustrated by Wyeth! Reaching the living room, she ran to the bookcase and pulled out Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Black Arrow. She rifled through the pages, then looked for more books in the collection. “Where is Treasure Island? It should be right here with Kidnapped and The Black Arrow. And where are Dad’s other books illustrated by Wyeth? Where are they?”
Thanks to the vandals, all the books were hodge-podged on the shelves. Aurora spent precious minutes finding and examining copies of the books she sought. When she finally finished checking each volume, she stood, puzzled, her hands on her hips. I just knew the pictures were hidden in one of the books. I was sure of it. I was wrong. “Ask Wyeth, ask Wyeth” kept running through her head.
And then she understood.
Dad’s favorite painting. And the brown backing paper was slit. Aurora opened a drawer in the antique sideboard, removed a stack of place mats, and arranged them on the Hepplewhite dining room table for padding so she wouldn’t scratch the finish. She took the beloved Wyeth from the wall and placed the painting upside down on the place mats. Excitement mounted. She picked up a pair of sharp scissors and carefully cut away the brown paper backing.
Five Polaroid photographs stared back at her.
The first photo she picked up showed a man hoisting a large black bag on what appeared to be a type of pulley. It was obvious to Aurora that the man was in her parents’ boathouse; the Maggie A, their speedboat named for Aurora’s mother, hung on the boatlift high above the water. She studied the man carefully, finally deciding she had never seen him before.
The second picture showed a man she had seen right here in Spawning Run; he was the one who had assisted the diver in Bad Boat just a short while ago. In the picture, he was modeling a hip-length fur coat, pointing to himself and grinning. Beside him a large, black bag dangled from a hook attached to the pulley.
Four men were in the third photograph. One she recognized as the same guy who was wearing the fur coat in the previous picture. Another, the man wearing the diving suit, she had seen in the same diving gear a short time ago in her cove. The third man in this picture was the same person in the first picture she looked at, someone she didn’t recognize. He held a painting and, again, an empty-looking black bag hung from a hook. The fourth man in the photograph had his back turned to the camera.
The Maggie A was visible in each of the three pictures.
In the fourth photo, a large fish lay on the dock, its empty belly split open down the center. The cavity held what appeared to be a plastic bag stuffed full of something. Aurora thought the fish was a striper that weighed maybe 35 pounds. But something about it looked strange, almost artificial.
She set that picture down with the other three and picked up photo number five. She stared at the same fish, but in this photo the plastic bag had been opened, its contents spread on a pale yellow towel beside the fish. Aurora sucked in her breath when she realized the bag had contained precious stones, necklaces, bracelets and rings. She guessed the contents were worth a small fortune. Aurora grabbed a magnifying glass to get a better look. That’s the necklace I took off the grebe!
All strength drained from her legs, and Aurora sank into one of the eight dining room chairs, their padded seats needle-pointed by her mother a lifetime ago. Or so it seemed to Aurora. “Oh, Lord. Dad must have become suspicious of the activities in the boathouse, investigated, and took these pictures,” she said aloud. King put a paw on her leg.
She looked helplessly around the room as tears rolled down her cheeks. The knowledge that her dad hadn’t drowned accidentally hit her. The pictures proved it.
Her dad was murdered!