B.J. Daniels - Hotshot P.i.

Jake nodded and took a chair beside Clancy. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. Especially with Tadd. Nor did he want to talk about his father. He pulled his business card from his wallet and tossed it on the desk. “I’m here on the Dex Westfall case.”

Tadd picked up the card. His eyes widened. “I’d heard Kiki had brought in some hotshot private eye.” He laughed. “I’ll be damned. So you’re a P.I.” He shook his head. “Interesting, her choice of investigators, wouldn’t you say?”

No kidding. “I’d like to see what evidence you’ve got so far.”

Tadd nodded. “Sure you wouldn’t like some coffee? Or maybe a stiff drink?” His smile slipped a little as he looked from Jake to Clancy and back. “You’re not going to like this case.”

“There isn’t much about it I’ve liked so far,” Jake said. Clancy mumbled something under her breath and looked at her watch.

“Don’t worry. This won’t take long,” Jake assured her.

“Do I look worried?” she asked with wide-eyed innocence.

The attorney excused himself and returned a few minutes later with a large manila envelope. He placed it on the desk in front of Jake and returned to his seat without saying a word.

Jake opened the flap, pulled out a stack of papers and flipped through them. He let out an oath without even realizing it.

“Told you you weren’t going to like it,” Tadd said.

The case against Clancy was overwhelming.

“I think I will take that coffee,” Jake said to Tadd.

Jake sat stunned as Tadd buzzed his secretary. It had been one thing telling himself the woman who betrayed him was a killer. It was quite another to realize it might actually be true.

“Why didn’t the sheriff just hang her on the spot?” Jake asked Tadd after he took a sip of the coffee the attorney handed him, happily discovering it to be heavily laced with bourbon.

“Would have a hundred years ago. If she’d been a man.” Tadd chuckled. “Instead, she’s a woman. And a Talbott to boot.” He shot Clancy a smile to say he was just kidding, but with one look from her, it died on his lips.

Jake wondered if she realized that she’d be cooling her heels in a cell right now if it wasn’t for Aunt Kiki’s money and the illustrious Talbott name. Not to mention what Kiki must be paying Tadd. Jake wouldn’t be surprised if Kiki wasn’t also making a large donation to the Tadd Farnsworth for County Attorney campaign for added incentive.

Jake thumbed through the rest of the evidence, including a list of Dex Westfall’s belongings from the murder scene: a bloody western snap-front shirt, a pair of jeans and red cowboy boots. No socks. No underwear. Jake raised an eyebrow. Had Dex gotten dressed in a hurry for some reason? Or was that his usual attire? Jake made a mental note to ask Clancy.

There was also a list of items found at the cabin Dex had rented at the Hawk Island Resort, including Dex’s wallet, watch, keys and some loose change.

“He didn’t have his wallet or keys on him the night of his murder?” Jake asked Tadd, suspecting even more that for some reason Dex Westfall had dressed in a hurry.

“I guess he didn’t need them,” Tadd said. “No place to spend money and he sure couldn’t drive anywhere. He probably took one of the island trails to Ms. Jones’s.”

“You don’t know how he got there?” Jake asked, surprised.

“Does it matter?” Tadd said. “He got there. We know that.”

Everything mattered, Jake thought. What Dex hadn’t done was drive. There were no cars or roads on Hawk Island. That left two other options: he could go by boat around the island to Clancy’s. Or he could take one of the many mountain trails. Because the sheriff hadn’t found a boat at the scene didn’t mean Dex hadn’t had someone drop him off. And that meant maybe he’d planned to have that same someone pick him up again.

Dex was last seen with Clancy after the resort café closed on Friday night. That meant there wouldn’t have been any place on the island for Dex to spend money. But Jake still thought it odd Dex hadn’t taken his wallet. Most guys would grab their wallet, keys and watch out of habit. Some things you just felt naked without. Like underwear.

The wallet, according to the report, contained less than thirty dollars. He glanced through the photocopy of the items—a Montana driver’s license, a few credit cards. Jake frowned. No photographs. Not even one of Clancy, the guy’s girlfriend. No family photos. No receipts or junk like most people carried in their wallets. No mementos.

Dex Westfall’s belongings reminded Jake of a new subdivision. No feeling of history. Everything of Dex’s had been marked on the sheriff’s list as in new condition. Jake found himself wondering just who the hell this guy was and what Clancy had seen in him as he glanced at Westfall’s driver’s license photo again. The guy was almost too good-looking. Jake had never figured Clancy for that type, but then, he reminded himself, he didn’t know Clancy anymore. He looked over at her. For instance, what was she thinking about right now? He realized how little he knew about her. It worried him. A lot.

Taking out his notebook, Jake jotted down Dex’s social security number and address from his driver’s license, and took down the credit card numbers. He put everything back in the envelope and looked up at Tadd.

“What do you know about this guy?” Jake asked.

Tadd shrugged. “No more than what’s here, and we won’t know until his next of kin are notified.” Jake noted Clancy’s sudden rapt attention and wondered why this subject would interest her when nothing else about her case had.

“There’s one other thing,” Tadd said. Jake felt the bad news coming even before Tadd opened his mouth. “You should know the sheriff has two witnesses who overheard Westfall and Clancy arguing at the marina café the evening Dex Westfall was murdered. Both said they heard Clancy threaten Dex.”

Jake groaned inwardly.

“One is a waitress at the marina café,” Tadd continued. “The other is Frank Ames. You remember him?”

Yeah, Jake remembered the tall, pimply-faced kid six years his senior. Frank had always had a major chip on his shoulder, one that Jake had more than once wanted to knock off. Jake’s father had given Frank a job at the resort, wanting to help him. But Frank’s hostile unfriendliness had forced Warren Hawkins to let him go, making Frank Ames all the more bitter.

“Frank owns the resort now,” Tadd said. “Maybe you’d heard.”

“No, I hadn’t.” Jake hadn’t heard anything about Hawk Island since the day he promised his mother he’d never say his father’s name in her presence again. It had been the day they left Flathead Lake, right after Warren Hawkins had been convicted of embezzlement, arson and one count of deliberate homicide. They’d left town on the whipping tail of a scandal that had rocked the tiny community. Kiki had been right; his mother had insisted they leave without stopping at the Montana State prison in Deer Lodge to see his father even one last time.

Jake had kept his promise to her; he’d never mentioned his father’s name. But several times a year he’d visited Warren Hawkins in prison. Jake had wanted to reopen his father’s case and do some investigating on his own, but Warren had asked him not to. Jake had left it alone, not wanting to hurt his mother any more than she had been.

But now she was gone. And he was back in Montana thanks to Aunt Kiki. Back on Flathead Lake. And that hunch of his was knocking at the back of his brain, demanding to be let in. Demanding that he follow it, no matter where it might lead. Clancy was his ticket as surely as Tadd Farnsworth was a born politician. It was just going to be harder to get the truth out of Clancy than he’d first thought.