Jayne Krentz - Dream Eyes

“Yes,” Oxley said. He gave a world-weary sigh. “But I also know I’ll never be able to prove it, just like I’ll never be able to prove that he killed for money. No way I’m going to try to go after Buddy’s clients. Not my job, and I sure as hell haven’t got enough to take to the FBI.”

“Some folks are going to get away with murder,” Judson pointed out. “Namely Buddy’s clients.”

“Yep, that’s a fact.” Oxley rubbed the back of his neck. “And I’m real sorry about that, but it happens all the time. You can only do what you can do in situations like this. You know what’s important here?”

“What?” Judson asked.

“You saved Nicole Hudson’s life, and Buddy Poole is dead in what was a clear case of self-defense that wound up as a tragic accident. That’s as much justice as anyone can expect under the circumstances. As far as I’m concerned, this case is closed.”

“What about the deaths two years ago?” Gwen asked.

Oxley narrowed his eyes. “No point reopening those investigations because I don’t have a damn thing more in the way of evidence. But if it makes you feel any better, I will tell you that I believe Zander Taylor murdered those two people who participated in Evelyn’s research project. And I believe that his death out there at the falls was another tragic accident that, by an astonishing coincidence, resulted in rough justice for the victims. I’m okay with that.”

Gwen looked at Judson.

“The chief is right,” Judson said. “The bad guys are both dead. This is as good as it gets.”

“I know,” Gwen said.

Oxley cleared his throat. “There is one thing I’d like to know, Miss Frazier.”

She turned back to him. “Yes?”

“When, exactly, do you plan on leaving town? Not that I’m marking the days on my calendar, you understand.”

“Trust me, I am really looking forward to putting Wilby in my rearview mirror just as soon as I can,” Gwen said sweetly.

“Good,” Oxley said. “No offense, but I’m real glad to hear that.”

“Your mom and I have some good news and some interesting news for you regarding the money that Buddy Poole stashed in that offshore account,” Nick Sawyer said.

Judson, phone clamped to his ear, reached the far end of his room. Confronted with a wall, he turned and paced back toward the opposite wall. He did not like the restless, edgy sensation that was feathering the fine hair on the back of his neck. Max watched him from the center of the bed.

“I assume that interesting is your way of describing bad news?” Judson said.

“I’ll get to that,” Nick said. “Before I deliver our report, however, Mrs. Coppersmith and I would like to stress that this follow-the-money thing would have gone much faster if you had remembered to put Poole’s name on your list of suspects.”

Judson rubbed the back of his neck. The edgy feeling was growing stronger. He knew it meant that he had overlooked something important.

“Poole wasn’t connected to the study group,” he said.

“Excuses, excuses.”

“I’m not in the mood for a critique of my investigative skills. I’m well aware that things have not gone smoothly here in Wilby, but I would like to remind you and Mom that I came into this case cold just a few days ago and it turned out that the situation was a bit more complicated than I had been led to believe.”

“No shit,” Nick said. “On a personal note, I’d love to know how you got your hands on that offshore account number and Poole’s password.”

“I used to do some work for a federal agency,” Judson said.

“Oh, yeah, right, the Post Office. I keep forgetting.”

“Finding that account info wasn’t easy, let me tell you. There were dogs. Big dogs.”

“Chained?”

“Nope, loose inside the house.”

“How’d you get past ’em?” There was professional interest in Nick’s voice now. “Dogs can be a real problem.”

“I had help,” Judson admitted. “I went over to Poole’s place with a bag of kibble and Nicole Hudson. She’s the one who fed the dogs whenever Poole went out of town on one of his contract jobs. The mutts know her, and they love her. In fact, she’s going to adopt them now that Poole is no longer around.”

“Did this Nicole know what Poole was doing when he went out of town?”

“No. Tell me about the account.”

“We found it right quick after you gave us the number and the password,” Nick said.

“But?”

“But it was closed.”

Judson stopped in the middle of the room. “Are you sure?”

“When it comes to large sums of anonymous cash, I pay close attention,” Nick said. “So does your mother.”

“I don’t doubt that. Go on.”

“Poole’s offshore account was emptied quite recently.”

“He must have known we were onto him,” Judson said. “Maybe he moved the money as a precaution.”

“Not unless he did it from beyond the grave.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“That account was closed about forty minutes after Poole had his unfortunate encounter with a sharp object this morning.”

“Shit.”

“Whatever. According to the timeline that you gave me, Poole suffered his lethal accident in the floral shop at approximately two a.m. The account was closed shortly thereafter. So, it looks to us like maybe—”

“Like maybe there’s someone else involved in this thing.” Judson headed for the door. “Someone who not only knew about the offshore account but also knew that it was time to move on.”

“Whoever he is, in addition to being very, very good on a computer, he must have his finger on the pulse of what’s happening there in Wilby,” Nick said.

“He sure as hell does. The bastard has a front-row seat.”

Judson yanked open the door and went swiftly out into the hall. Max vaulted from the bed to the floor and dashed after him.

“You’re on your own, cat,” Judson said.

Max stuck like glue.

Judson opened the stairwell door and started down. Max followed on his heels.

“Are you in a stairwell?” Nick asked. “There’s this hollow sound.”

“I’m using the emergency stairs. This explains why I didn’t find Evelyn’s computer or that damn camera at Poole’s house this morning.” Judson gripped the railing and leaped down the next flight of steps. Max bounded after him. “I’ll talk to you later. Call the Wilby 911 number and tell the operator to get someone out to the old lodge immediately. Tell her there’s another murder about to take place.”

“What’s going on?”

“Gwen left a few minutes ago. She’s on her way to meet Sundew. And she’s alone.”

Gwen pulled into the driveway of the old lodge. It was not raining, but the gray skies were growing darker and more ominous by the minute. Wesley Lancaster’s rental car was parked under the shelter of the peaked roof at the front entrance. She stopped directly behind him.

His extraordinarily generous offer to buy the lodge to use as a set for his new series had come as a surprise that morning, but the more she thought about it, the more interesting the idea became. The large sum of money would do wonders for her precarious finances while she set up her psychic investigation business.

Wesley was not waiting for her inside his car as she had expected. There was no sign of him lounging impatiently in the entryway, either. It occurred to her that to kill time he had walked around the lodge building to get a closer look at the falls.

She took the code out of her tote and started to key it into the high-tech lock. Belatedly, she realized that the door was unlocked.

She pushed open the heavy steel door.