Dead Wrong Page 16

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. We went back and looked and it’s clear someone is crossing over the fence in that area. And then there’s Brooklyn’s photograph, which clearly shows someone creeping onto my property—the same person who made the boot print.”

  “Hang on. What photograph?”

  “I left a note on your door. It explained everything.”

  “I stopped by the house before I came here. There wasn’t any note.”

  “We can figure out why we’re doing this later,” Gina muttered.

  Agatha stared down at her blue jean-clad legs, then back up at Tony. “I’m sorry, but Gina’s right. My guests leave tomorrow. It’s better if we solve this tonight.”

  “Anything we find here will be inadmissible in court.”

  “But we’ll know if we’re looking the right direction. We’ll learn if any of the guests are involved or if it has nothing to do with them at all. Perhaps they simply scheduled a Hill Country vacation at the wrong time.”

  Agatha looked around in wonder, but her mind was flipping over all that had happened in the last week. She couldn’t see it yet, but she had the feeling the pieces of this puzzle were coming together.

  Gina turned in a circle to take in all of the room, then faced Tony. “Whoever is doing this is trying to put Agatha out of business. I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “The timing is what brought it all together.” Agatha attempted to swipe at her hair, then remembered she was holding a bucket.

  Gina shifted her shotgun into her opposite hand. “Brooklyn was out walking by the river Wednesday morning, before dawn. She was taking pictures of the B&B, but she inadvertently caught our creeper coming onto the property.”

  “At the same time Dixon was arguing with the Cox brothers.”

  “The pictures are time stamped.”

  “Someone lured Dixon out of his room...” Agatha peered at Tony. “It was all in the note I left on your side door—the one you always enter your house through. I even used yellow tape so you’d be sure to see.”

  “Again—there was no note.”

  “Then someone took it, and that same person is sabotaging Agatha’s business.” Gina’s grip on the shotgun tightened. “There’s a good chance he or she killed Russell Dixon. So why don’t we stop talking and start looking.”

  It again occurred to Agatha that she was the only one without a weapon. But then, what would she do with one? She could never hurt another person. She’d joined the church when she was a young woman and part of their Ordnung included a commitment to pacifism. She could never knowingly harm someone, regardless of the reason for doing so.

  “Put your phone on silent,” Tony said to Gina. “One of us stays with Agatha at all times since she doesn’t have any way to call for help.”

  “I have my voice.” She wanted to add that she wasn’t a child and didn’t need looking after, but now didn’t seem the time.

  “I’ll go through the rooms upstairs.” Gina was already headed toward the sleek curved staircase.

  “We’ll take the downstairs,” Tony said. “Come on, Agatha. It’s me and you, kid.”

  Agatha still felt like she’d been caught up in an Englisch movie, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she crept along behind Tony as they slowly moved from room to room.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Tony had no doubt that he’d soon regret what they were doing, but he also couldn’t really fault their logic. Though there were many reasons for taking another life—more than he’d first thought as a young detective—most involved either passion or money. Passion was usually a quick strike and confined to the person who felt betrayed and the betrayer. Rarely were more people involved.

  This felt bigger—the paint on Agatha’s barn, the person who tried to run him off the road—it all pointed to an ongoing response to something. He was willing to bet that something had a dollar sign on it.

  His gut told him McNair was involved. If they could find the evidence...any evidence...perhaps he’d have the knowledge to work backwards. Or he could call in an anonymous tip to the police. Since he was no longer on the force, he was just an average citizen breaking into a neighbor’s home.

  The thought wasn’t terribly comforting.

  He glanced back at Agatha, surprised at how she looked the same and at the same time totally different. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt similar to what Gina had been wearing. She’d replaced her traditional kapp with a ball cap, and her hair hung in a long braid down her back.

  She somehow looked younger in the Englisch clothes—younger, and completely out of her element.

  Together they did a cursory look in the kitchen, dining area, living room, and media room. They were at the end of the hall and about to give up on the bottom floor when Agatha jiggled a doorknob and said, “It’s locked.”

  “Let me see.” He tried the doorknob, but she was right. It was locked.

  “Who locks a door in their own house, when they’re not there and they have a guard outside?”

  “Does seem like overkill.” Tony felt along the carpet, looked under a small occasional table in the hall, then ran his hand along the top of the doorframe. “Bingo.”

  Agatha’s eyes widened in surprise and a smile spread across her face.

  He placed the key into the lock, and they stepped into the room.

  “Leave it open,” he said. “We want to hear if anyone comes down the hall.”

  There was no ambient light in the room, but Tony’s night vision had always been good.

  “Stay here,” he whispered, and then walked over to a sitting area and turned on one of the lamps. Its light bathed the room in a soft glow.

  And what a room it was.

  Leather furniture, dark paneling, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet set the tone. Glass encompassed the wall which looked out over the river, floor to ceiling, just like the main room. A bookcase covered the length of the opposite wall. But it was the wall facing the door that drew his attention. McNair had mounted antique rifles, swords, and crossbows from one end of the room to the other. It wasn’t exactly an armory, as most of the pieces appeared to be quite old, but it was unusual.

  Tony had stepped closer to admire a flintlock pistol, when Agatha called out.

  “I think we found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “Found the answer to what’s going on.” She stood at the far side of the room, to the right of a huge mahogany desk. Tony hurried over to her side, noting that the large table held some kind of architectural model.

  He stood there, staring at it, unable to understand exactly what he was seeing.

  “Where’s my house?” Agatha whispered.

  And then it all came together, the Guadalupe River along one edge of the platform, and along the other side to the south sat McNair’s place, only it wasn’t only McNair’s house he was looking at. Next to it was a much larger structure. He leaned closer, and focused the beam of his flashlight on the model’s fine print in the bottom corner.

  The Guadalupe Resort,

  a McNair-Bench-Hawthorne property. Headquarters.

  He splayed his flashlight across the board, revealing a twenty-story hotel, cottages, cabanas, nightclub, seven swimming pools, and an amphitheater. “This covers your property, my property, and the Simpson Ranch.”

  “So he thought he could drive me out of business—somehow that has to be tied into Dixon’s death. But what about your property? How did he plan to get that?”

  Tony shook his head. “I don’t know. Or maybe I do. McNair knew about Camilla’s death. He even came by to offer his condolences. A few months later I received a card, telling me if I ever decided to sell—if the memories became too much—to call him and he’d give me a fair price.”

  “Have you considered selling?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it seriously. Maybe? Honestly, I couldn’t see around my grief far enough to know what I wanted to do. But I might have...if your place was gone a
nd he’d purchased the Simpson Ranch on the other side of me. I wouldn’t want to be in the middle of a development like this.”

  “And the Simpson Ranch on the far side of you is for sale.”

  “They’re asking too much for it. But this? This is deep pockets. They could probably swing it.”

  “If he started the construction all around you—if you were stuck in the middle...”

  “I wouldn’t put up much of a fight.”

  Agatha leaned toward the board, then pulled Tony’s hand so that the light shone on the far left corner. “Look at this.”

  Tony let out a long, low whistle.

  “What is that?”

  “My guess? The projected construction price.”

  “Seventy-eight million dollars?” Agatha shook her head in disbelief, causing the long braid down her back to swing back and forth. “Would someone really invest that much?”

  “I guess so. Look at this.” On the other corner of the board was an Amount Raised scale. The marker was set at 39 million.

  “Half. He already has half.”

  The immense weight that had been pressing on Tony since he’d first viewed Russell Dixon’s body lifted. He’d found motive. He’d found the perpetrator. One way or another, McNair was behind all of it. “Once he has our properties, the other half of his funding would be fairly easy to acquire.”

  “So how does all this tie in with Russell Dixon?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know one thing...we just found motive. Let’s get out of here.”

  The second they turned back toward the door, Tony knew that wasn’t going to happen. Daryl McNair stood there, and he held a nine-millimeter handgun pointed directly at them. Crime was supposed to take its toll on a man, but McNair seemed to be thriving from the dark side of his life. He wore jeans and a designer fishing shirt which hung easily on his muscular frame. His expression was relaxed, almost as if he was enjoying the moment.

  Tony fought the urge to go for the handgun in the paddle holster on his hip. McNair smiled, practically daring him to try it. He didn’t have time. He knew that. Maybe if Agatha could distract the man.

  “I see you two found my project. Isn’t the model wonderful?” He flicked his gun to the left, moving them toward the windows. Nowhere to run. The windows were no use because Tony could see from where he stood that the panes were too thick to bust through.

  “They’re even sound proof,” McNair said, as if reading his mind. “Wouldn’t want all that noise from the resort filtering in.”

  “Did you actually kill Russell Dixon...for this?” Agatha looked more puzzled than frightened.

  Tony stepped closer to her. He didn’t realize until he glanced at her that they both had their hands raised. It was an instinctive posture when someone threatened you with a gun.

  See? I’m no danger. My hands are empty.

  Two large men dressed in black stepped into the room behind McNair. “The rest of the building is clear.”

  “And Luscombe?”

  “I gave him the rest of the night off.”

  “Tomorrow I want you to fire him. If he can’t keep these two out, he’s not worth having around.”

  Tony willed Agatha to not look at him, to not give anything away. If McNair and his men hadn’t found Gina, there was still hope.

  “Secure them.” McNair looked bored. Was the man so arrogant he considered them a mere distraction?

  “It’s not too late, McNair. Up until now, this is a misunderstanding, but once you kidnap us...”

  “Kidnap you? Please, I have no interest in holding a burned-out cop and a religious lady captive. I’m simply going to take you to a more remote location, find out what you know, and then kill you.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Agatha figured she must be in shock. She was more fascinated than terrified when one of the big, burly guys pulled out a roll of duct tape, motioned for Tony to put his arms behind his back, and proceeded to wrap the tape around and around his wrists. He removed Tony’s pistol and set it on McNair’s desk, then frisked him to make sure he didn’t have any other weapons.

  She should be frightened.

  Her brain knew that.

  But honestly...what good would screaming for help do at this point?

  There was no one to hear, except perhaps Gina.

  She glanced at Tony at the same moment the burly man moved toward her.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “Let her leave them in front.” Tony was still holding her gaze, trying to tell her something. “She’s an old woman with a bad shoulder.”

  She played along. “I can barely lift it some days.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d had shoulder impingement for years, but how did Tony know that?

  “I know you’re not afraid of her...”

  “Who would be afraid of an old woman?” She emphasized the words as Tony had. She’d give him what-for about that description once they were free, and in that moment she realized the reason she wasn’t afraid. She did believe they’d find a way out of this.

  What that escape would be, she couldn’t imagine.

  “What difference does it make?” Tony added. “It’s not like we can get away.”

  Burly guy looked to McNair, who shrugged. “I don’t care. They get a bullet either way.”

  “Put your elbows together, Agatha. It’s less strain on the shoulder that way.” Tony used a low voice as if he were only talking to her, but she had the distinct impression he wanted McNair to hear.

  “Did you do it? Did you kill Russell Dixon?” Agatha’s voice was less firm than she had hoped. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What could be worth taking another life?”

  “Dixon should have thanked me. He had a miserable life, and he got in the way—just like you two are in the way.”

  “So all this is for your resort? For a development plan?” Tony’s voice was even and calm.

  Agatha had the strange thought that he’d been through a similar situation before. Or perhaps his training included how to appear unruffled. Whatever it was, she was grateful. His lack of fear helped to keep hers at bay.

  “You have no idea,” McNair said. “This development will make me rich—very rich. You two can’t imagine what that means, I know, but it’s a far better life.”

  “Better? What difference does it make if you have five million or twenty?”

  “Proof of your ignorance, Vargas.”

  “And the people who live here have no say in what happens to the area?”

  “If I didn’t do it somebody else would. Why should someone else be the one to benefit when I’ve held this miserable piece of property for twenty years? Fishing and wildlife and natural resources...I’ve heard it all, but what it always comes down to is, how will it benefit the person talking? I’m not the only hypocrite. I’m simply an honest one.”

  Agatha had no idea how to answer that, and as it turned out she didn’t have to. Once her hands were secured in front, McNair addressed the other burly guy.

  “Put them in the back of the van. You know where to take them.”

  They were prodded out of the office, back through the great room, and out the front door. A white panel van idled under the portico. Agatha had the bizarre thought that perhaps someone had called an Uber, and it was waiting for them.

  Burly guy pushed them into the vehicle, smirked at them, then slammed the doors shut.

  Agatha found herself enshrouded in pitch-black darkness.

  Well, she’d grown up on an Amish farm. Darkness was something she was accustomed to. Something she’d often found peace and comfort in—knowing that God was the maker of darkness and light, that God was beside her regardless the position of the sun, that God was her provider and helper.

  Someone put the van into drive, and it shot away from McNair’s house.

  Tony slid over next to her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Ya, for sure and certain...other than being bound, kidnapped, and on my way to being sh
ot.” Her voice pitched higher than usual. She fought to bring it down. “What’s your plan?”

  “Can you stand up?”

  “Maybe.”

  The van was bouncing around, but once they hit the main road, the ride smoothed out.

  “Try now. Put your back against the wall, and try to push up.”

  The first time she made it a foot or so and landed on her bottom, but that was probably because the driver made a too-fast turn. Who had taught that young man to drive? The second attempt, she managed to get her feet underneath her. Tony was already standing beside her. “Just lean on me, and push your way up.”

  “Whew. Okay. What now?”

  “Now I’m going to tell you how to get out of that duct tape.” His voice came to her in the darkness—calm, quiet, in control. He might be worried, but he was not panicked. That did more to slow her pounding pulse than anything else could have.

  “This stuff is pretty strong,” she said. “I remember my onkel duct taping a gate shut once to keep the cows in. It actually worked.”

  “It is strong, which is why bad guys use it. I want you to raise your arms above your head.”

  She sensed he was showing her how, though in the darkness she couldn’t see him. Still, friendship forged in terrible times required trust. She definitely trusted Tony Vargas.

  “Okay. My arms are above my head.”

  “Listen to me before you try this. You’re going to bring your arms down, quickly and with as much force as you can. As you do, let your arms come out at an angle, so that they brush your hips.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not straight down. That won’t work. Down, with force, and at an angle.”

  Someone could have knocked her over with a feather when the tape gave way on the second try. “Glad the cows didn’t figure this out. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I can’t do that with my arms behind me. Help me find something I can saw it up against—any kind of angle or sharp edge.”

  Agatha drew in her breath sharply. “Turn around. I have scissors in my pocket.” When she’d changed from her dress and apron into the Englisch clothes, she’d emptied her pockets and put the small sewing scissors into her blue jeans pocket.