35

After she hung up with Dennis, Alison did a search for schools in George Town in the Caymans. Perhaps this explained Heather and Zoe’s bizarre persecution of Justin and Claire. The girls had only been in Raleigh about five years and from all appearances had settled nicely into Stonebriar’s high-school life.

If they knew anything about the events of the last few months, maybe in some irrational way they blamed the rest of the Monaghans for “forcing” their mom and dad to relocate.

The Caymans were in the same time zone as Raleigh, Eastern Standard Time. If she was lucky—scratch that, make that if God made the way—she’d catch somebody at one of the high schools and verify Heather and Zoe Lawrence were enrolled, pointing to a longer stay than that of mere tourists on vacation.

Please, God, make someone pick up.

She’d start with the top boarding schools in the George Town area. That sounded about right for Linda Lawrence’s style.

It was scary how easily any and all information could be obtained via the Internet. She gazed out the window, stalling.

Ivy, as was her leadership style, personally supervised the setup of the orchestra pit and technical wiring of the speaker’s podium. She wanted to make sure all and sundry heard her opening speech. At least, it would keep her out of Alison’s hair long enough to make a few phone calls.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed the first number. It rang four times, but as she was about to hang up and try the next number, a brisk British island–accented voice answered. “Hullo? St. George’s Preparatory. How may I be of service?”

She straightened. “I’m calling from the USA to verify you received Heather and Zoe Lawrence’s transcripts this week.”

A computer mouse clicked and keys typed. “We have no record of any students by that name. Who did you say was calling?”

She hung up. Thank you, God, for island helpfulness.

Two phone calls later, she had her answer. Heather and Zoe Lawrence were enrolled beginning Monday morning at St. Bertha’s Preparatory School of Learning for Young Ladies.

“Gotcha.” She dialed Mike. Would he think her theories worth checking into, or would he tell her to stop imagining she was Poirot?

Mike answered on the first ring. “Miz Monaghan . . .”

She got goose bumps at the sound of his voice.

Focus . . .

“I spoke with Dennis Scott,” Mike drawled into the phone.

“And?”

Get on with it, man.

“I think you are a genius. Good detecting.”

She slumped against her chair. “You think it’s possible?”

“I do indeed. It’s not only possible, but your conclusions are logical and reasonable given their highly suspicious behavior of the past few weeks.”

She released the deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding until now. She quickly brought him up-to-date with her information about the permanence of the Lawrences’ vacation.

Another horrifying thought occurred to her.

“Do you suppose Frank was going to . . . ?” Her voice trembled. She wasn’t sure she could say it out loud.

Mike remained silent for a moment. “No. As a policeman, I don’t ever suppose. But if I had to make an educated guess, the evidence points more in the opposite direction of Frank gathering evidence, not to collude with their crimes, but to expose them.”

She cradled the phone. “You think so? Really?”

“My gut tells me so. But we’ll know more after the Lawrences are brought in for questioning. I intend to rattle their cage as hard as I can. They’re up to their necks in something illegal.”

She told him about her suspicions regarding the Lawrences and the ticket sales from the ball.

“That would certainly explain their insistence on not leaving town till Saturday morning.”

“Bill was sick or something, Linda claimed, at the board meeting on Wednesday, and although he was sitting right there at the table with his laptop, she did most of the talking. She said Bill had been unable to get the monthly financial reports ready in time for the meeting.”

“Suspicious,” Mike agreed. “And I find his silence interesting.”

Alison perked in her seat. “So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is for you and me to attend the ball tonight, and we’ll keep a close surveillance on the sticky-fingered couple. I’ll have a plainclothes officer watching their house, too.”

“But when are you going to pick them up?”

“At the airport.”

“Isn’t that calling it a little too close for comfort?”

He growled. “You know, Miz Monaghan, I have done this kind of thing at least once or twice in my career.”

She could tell he was getting irritated.

He took another deep breath as if she tried all the patience to be had in the world. “The banks are closed by the time the ball is over. I’ve been checking the Weathersby accounts, and so far, no recent deposits have shown up in terms of that amount of cash. So if the Lawrences arrive at the airport terminal with that much cash on their person . . .”

“You’ve caught them red-handed.”

“The smoking gun.” He rustled some papers on the other end. “A colleague is checking into their background before arriving in Raleigh, but so far, no William or Linda Lawrence has shown up on any tax records or in any criminal cases.”

“You think they changed their names when they moved to North Carolina?”

“It’s a possibility I’m checking into. Do you have any idea where they were from in California? California is a mighty big state.”

She had a sudden hunch. “Try the San Francisco Bay area first.”

“You’re thinking of Frank’s last trip to that city.”

“Perhaps Frank was gathering evidence, as you suggest, in addition to his extracurricular tryst with the mysterious woman.”

“Alison, hon—” He took a deep breath. “Why don’t you let me handle this case from now on? These kinds of reminders can’t be too comfortable for you.”

Sudden tears winked in her eyes. Kindness always got to her. She had experienced very little kindness in the last few years from Frank. And Val was right. Mike wasn’t anything like Frank.

“No, Mike. I need to see this thing through. I want to be there tomorrow morning when you arrest them at the airport.”

He snorted. “No way. No how.”

“Why not? I’m the one who connected the dots that led you to them.”

“Because you are a civilian, and you’re not going to get hurt on my watch.”

“Please, let me come. I’ll stay far back in the hangar. I won’t say a word. I’ll be as quiet as—”

“A mouse?” He chuckled. “Alison, you are anything but a mouse.”

She smiled into the receiver. Time for a little Southern magnolia.

“Puh-leeze, Mike. It’s important.”

“Now you sound like your daughter. You and that red-headed kid of yours are a lot alike.”

“Claire and me?”

“Yeah, when the both of you get an idea in your head, heaven help the rest of us. Do you have any idea what she’s badgered me into wearing tonight?”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Like I said, two dogs with a bone.”

“Are you going to let me come tomorrow or—or do I have to sneak into the airport terminal and run the risk of alerting the Lawrences?”

Silence on his end. Then, “Are you blackmailing me, Miz Monaghan? I sure would hate to have to arrest you for threatening an officer of the law.”

Alison smiled. She could tell from his voice, he was going to let her tag along on Saturday. She’d won this skirmish. No need to rub his nose in it.

“What time are you picking me up tonight?”

He sighed, letting the air out slowly.

She imagined him leaning back in his chair, hands locked behind his head and his feet up on the desk. Goose bumps broke out all over her skin. Again.

“Alison . . .” He lingered over the syllables of her name, a strange hitch in his voice.

Did he have any idea what the sound of his voice did to her?

“Seven o’clock.” He cleared his throat. “Be ready. I’m not hanging around waiting for you to make a grand entrance. The word for tonight is inconspicuous. Got it?”

“Inconspicuous.” Her face hurt from smiling. “Got it.”