Dead Set Page 2

  Tony joined Agatha at the small table in the memorial area of the garden that she’d created for Samuel and Deborah. He understood that it was her place of refuge, where she could force things back into their proper perspective. Colorful impatiens bloomed from clay pots, a small fountain gurgled, and summer sunlight occasionally pierced the canopy of live oak trees. Beyond the garden area and past the cabins she’d built lay the Guadalupe River, sparkling and peaceful.

  She’d brought this property back to life. She’d brought him back to life at a time when he thought nothing remained worth caring about. He couldn’t ask for a better neighbor, or a better friend. He thought he might be in love with her, but that was a conversation they’d been putting off for the last few months.

  Agatha’s cat Fonzi sat on a brick paver in a spot of sunlight, his eyes closed, a soft purr emanating from him. Tony was thinking that the cat might be right, that a nap might be just the thing he needed, but first he needed to explain to Agatha what had happened. He dropped into the seat across from her.

  “Construction guys are gone. Said they’d be back tomorrow.”

  “Now they’re behind schedule, before they were even able to get started.”

  “The police are almost finished.”

  She made a face.

  “You’re under strict orders to call them if the remodel crew finds any other anomalous items.”

  “Anomalous?”

  “Irregular, strange, unusual.”

  “I know what the word means.” She tapped her fingertips against the small table’s metal top. “Like diamonds? If I find any more diamonds in my walls then I should call them?”

  Tony smiled. “Sounds like you need a walk down by the river.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  It was now nearing noon, which in Texas, in August, usually meant you should hide inside. But this day was pleasant, almost as if it were compensating for the way Agatha’s morning had gone askew. They walked down the path, past her cabins and to the banks of the river.

  “Did you see the way that woman—”

  “Tamara?”

  “The way Tamara was fawning over the buckle?”

  “I did.”

  “Why do people get so excited about diamonds, Tony? It’s not as if it’s something you can take with you at the end of your life. Amish don’t wear jewelry. I know a lot of our ways seem odd, but perhaps, on this one, we’re right.”

  “It wasn’t just any diamond, Agatha. That belt buckle belonged to John Waynard.”

  “You’re making that name up.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Sounds like—”

  “John Wayne? Yeah. It does. How do you know about John Wayne?”

  “Gina insisted I watch True Grit at her place. Said I couldn’t possibly live in Texas without seeing a western. I must say it was interesting, especially when Rooster Cockburn picked up the girl—”

  “Mattie.”

  “That’s it. When he picked up Mattie, after she’d been bitten by those snakes, then rode with her until the horse collapsed. That part made me cry. It was quite the story.”

  “John Waynard grew up around here. As you can imagine, he suffered somewhat from his name being so close to The Duke’s.”

  “Who?”

  “John Wayne’s. Anyway. Growing up, John Waynard loved to participate in area rodeos. He did okay. Not great; maybe a little above average. Then his dad made a fortune in real estate, and John went to work for his old man. He put those dreams of riding the rodeo circuit behind him.”

  “I love it when you tell me stories.”

  She smiled up at him, and Tony marveled that the tension could slip away from her so easily. She didn’t hold on to a thing, and that was a precious gift indeed.

  He reached for her hand, and they continued their walk along the river, passing from her property to his. Crickets chirped and birds called out to one another. A bass hit the surface of the water, then slid back into the stream.

  “Along about the time John’s father died, and John’s fortune hit the hundred-million-dollar mark, he had a belt buckle made. A diamond belt buckle.”

  “And that’s what was in my wall?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “How do you know it’s not a fake?”

  “Why would anyone hide a fake? No, what you found this morning was the real deal—the John Waynard Buckle.”

  “Someone robbed him.”

  “In 1998.”

  She stopped and turned toward him. “You worked the case?”

  He shook his head. “I was on the force, but I wasn’t a detective then. Still, it was the talk of the area. For years after that you’d see people with metal detectors in the strangest places, looking for that belt buckle that was studded with two dozen diamonds.”

  “Sounds like a lot.”

  “It is. That buckle is worth half a million dollars, at least.”

  Agatha shrugged. Tony understood that money didn’t impress her. If she had what she needed, if her friends and family were provided for, then she had no desire for more.

  “The police will return it to Mr. Waynard?”

  “No, he passed a few years ago. But it will be returned to his family. Lieutenant Bannister will take care of that.”

  “Wunderbaar.”

  “We may never know who stole it. Maybe it doesn’t even matter now.”

  “They stole it and then for whatever reason they hid it in my wall.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Why wouldn’t they come back for it?”

  “Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they were incarcerated for something else, or maybe they died.”

  She nodded as if that made sense. “I’m sure the police, or the then-detective, interviewed the usual suspects.”

  “Yup. And then the case went cold—as many cases do.”

  Agatha stopped and looked back toward her place. “I just want to finish the renovations, then go visit my family in Indiana. I want to come back the first week of September and re-open. Is that going to be a problem?”

  He pushed her kapp strings behind her shoulders. “It shouldn’t be.”

  “It’s not like this is a murder.”

  “Correct.” He pulled her into his arms, and they stood there, in the August noonday sun. Kissing her softly on the lips, he breathed in the smell of her, the essence of Agatha. After a moment, she stepped away, and he turned them back toward her house. “Police should be gone by now, and Gina said not to be late for lunch.”

  “She’s never happy when officers traipse through the house. What are we having?”

  “Sandwiches on fresh baked bread, salad from your garden, and homemade peach pie.”

  “Ahhh.”

  “That’s what I was going to say.”

  But as they walked back up the hill toward the B&B, Tony realized that something wasn’t sitting right with the whole story of Waynard’s diamond buckle. He didn’t know exactly what. It was like having something on the lens of your glasses, something just barely in your field of vision, but not clear enough to see. Only this thing was in his mind. It was probably nothing, but he’d learned to listen to his instincts when they started tapping on his consciousness.

  He’d have lunch with Agatha and Gina, then do a Google search. If that didn’t satisfy his itch, he still had friends in the Hunt PD. Someone would know what it was that he was trying to remember. He’d check it out, make sure that Agatha wasn’t in any danger, and then their summer could get back on track.

  THREE HOURS LATER TONY found himself sitting outside the police department, in a small alcove that had been designated a smoking area. Julia Perez sat on the adjacent bench, studying him through a blue haze of smoke.

  “Your girlfriend Agatha has landed in the middle of things again.”

  “She has, through no fault of her own. The whole Waynard buckle case is bothering me, but I can’t put my finger on why.”

  Julia apparently wasn’t ready to move on from the subjec
t of his love life. “You’re Catholic and she’s Amish. How is that supposed to work? Are you going to give up electricity and sell your truck? Or is she going to hop into modern society?”

  “I don’t know, Julia. We haven’t exactly addressed the fine details of our relationship yet.”

  “Huh.” She took another drag off the cigarette. “I couldn’t bring you the case file. Tami Griffin is in the office today and that woman watches me like a hawk.”

  “Or you’re a little paranoid.”

  “Or both. Anyway, I read through the file on John Waynard.”

  “Old case.”

  “Very. I was still able to dance the Cotton-eyed Joe in those days.”

  “You’re still able to do that.”

  She waved that observation away. Julia had been the police department secretary for as far back as Tony could remember. Even then, back in the old days, she’d run a tight ship. He wasn’t too worried about who would win in a power struggle between Julia and Officer Griffin. Officers came and went. Julia remained.

  “The robbery happened in 1998. The thing that’s bothering you...the thing you can’t remember...is that you were supposed to go to Huntsville and interview Sean Neal.” When he still didn’t comment, she added, “It was four years ago, nearly twenty years after the original crime. Neal was on death row for a murder one conviction.”

  Tony stared off across the parking area. The details of the case were coming back, like falling into a familiar dream.

  “He sent us a letter. Said he had information about the location of Waynard’s buckle.” Tony shook his head. “Whatever came of that? It’s like a giant black hole in my memory.”

  “Because you never went. That was the week Camila received her diagnosis. You were with your wife at MD Anderson in Houston.”

  “Right.” It came rushing back—the pull of the job and the need to be with Camila. The shock of her stage four cancer. The diagnosis that consumed the remaining time he had with her. That wasn’t quite true. They’d had moments of grace even in the midst of their personal tragedy.

  “Blake Goodwin was assigned to go instead.”

  Tony laughed. “I haven’t thought about Goodwin in years.”

  “He retired six months after you did, moved over to Uvalde.”

  “Okay. So what did the interview notes say?”

  “There were no interview notes because there was no interview.” She waited until Tony looked directly at her.

  He knew that expression, knew by the way she was tapping her left foot that he was nearly out of time. Julia didn’t suffer fools or people wasting her time.

  “There was no interview because Neal was killed while Goodwin was on his way down there.”

  “Huh.”

  “Supposedly just a prison fight that got out of hand.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s more.”

  “How could there be more?”

  “I did a cross check. Not long after Neal was killed there were two break-ins at Agatha’s house.”

  “No way. I might have been preoccupied with Camila, but I would have noticed a break-in next door.”

  “This was when the house was empty, before Samuel bought it. Again, you were probably at MD Anderson. Didn’t you practically live down there for six months?”

  “Yeah. We stayed at one of those hotels that offer weekly rates.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands interlocked. “So what came of the burglaries?”

  “Nothing. The report indicates it was probably kids messing around. There wasn’t anything there to steal. The house had sat empty for about a year.”

  There wasn’t anything there to steal. But maybe there was something there that had already been stolen. And just maybe the people who broke in knew that. They would have looked around, maybe even gone as far as searching behind the air conditioning grates. But they wouldn’t have thought to knock down a wall.

  Julia stubbed out her cigarette in a canister filled with sand and a dozen other butts. He hoped they weren’t all hers.

  “Thanks, Julia.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to have an extra patrol put on Agatha’s place?”

  He thought about that. But what was left to steal? Whatever had been hidden there had been found. “Not necessary. I’ll keep an eye on the place.”

  He’d turned and walked away when she called him back.

  “For what it’s worth, Camila would have liked her.”

  He nodded once, then hurried to his truck. Julia was right. Camila would have liked Agatha. They would have been the best of friends if they’d ever known each other.

  They were both good-hearted, practical women.

  They were both extremely stubborn.

  There was no way Agatha was going to let him sleep on her front porch to ward off some possible wannabe burglar. Plus, the place hadn’t been broken into since she’d moved in. More than likely, whoever was involved had either died or moved on.

  Was it a coincidence that Sean Neal was killed before Goodwin could interview him? Tony could see how a thief might think the Waynard buckle would be worth killing for. That bar was pretty low for some people. But there was a problem with that scenario. A common thief couldn’t get a man killed in a maximum-security prison. That took someone with ties to prisoners on the inside, or connections to a corrupt guard.

  Did any of that matter? By noon the next day Tamara’s front page article would be published in paper and on-line. Everyone would know the Waynard buckle had been found and returned to its rightful owner. Case closed.

  They’d also know where it was found.

  And if anything else was hidden there, those involved would be determined to reclaim it before more walls were demolished.

  He slowed, then parked on the side of the road and put in a call to Lieutenant Bannister. The man answered on the second ring with a curt “Bannister.”

  Tony laid out what he knew and asked him to reopen the Waynard case. Bannister flatly refused. The robbery was over twenty years old. He didn’t have the man power or the resources to commit to cold cases. End of discussion.

  Tony made a U-turn, drove back into town, and stopped by their only sporting goods shop. He purchased three wildlife cameras—high-tech ones that would allow him to set an alert to go to his phone. More than likely he was overreacting, but if someone did come snooping around Agatha’s place, he wanted to be the first to know.

  Chapter Three

  Agatha stared at Gina in disbelief. “You’re staying here?”

  “As long as you’re in danger.” She hoisted the gym bag she’d received from her place over her right shoulder, patted it with her left hand. “You heard Tony. Someone might come back.”

  “I think both of you are overreacting.”

  “And you have a right to your own opinion.”

  “But you’re still staying.”

  “Yup.” Gina marched toward the stairs.

  “What room are you staying in?” Now she was more amused than alarmed. Gina hated being away from home. She hadn’t gone out of town in the two years Agatha had known her.

  “The one with twin beds.”

  “Because—”

  “Because I want you to stay upstairs with me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Gina turned, and the concern on her friend’s face settled the matter for Agatha. Gina and Tony might be overreacting, but it was because they cared about her.

  “If anyone breaks in, they’ll do so through one of the first-floor doors or windows. Tony’s game cameras will send his phone a digital alert, we’ll be safely tucked away upstairs, and he can come take care of them. It’s a foolproof plan.”

  “There’s no such thing as a foolproof system.”

  “So you say.”

  “Not me.” Agatha glanced back toward her private suite, knowing she would not be spending the night there. “Frank Abagnale.”

  “Who?


  “Doesn’t matter. He said that foolproof ideas fail to take into account the creativity of fools.”

  Gina scowled at her, then said, “Go get your things.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  She was already thinking it might be fun. It might be like a slumber party.

  Only it wasn’t fun at all because Gina sat by the window in the dark with a pistol on her lap. A pistol! Agatha might live in the great state of Texas the rest of her life, but she doubted she would ever understand the people born and raised south of the Red River. Texans had a mindset as unique as the land.

  The night passed without incident. Gina woke with a crick in her neck from sleeping in the chair, which only served to worsen her attitude. Fortunately, she took her misery out on the kitchen floor.

  The workmen showed up promptly at eight a.m. Derrick Dewald had explained that he would only be on site as necessary. Half a dozen men were on her roof, installing skylights. When they finished that, they’d be installing solar-powered, near-ground lighting along the walk that led to the cabins.

  The bulk of the indoor work would be done by Kolbe Burke, José Gomez, and Hunter Mathis. José and Hunter were obviously the experienced hands on the work crew. Kolbe looked like a college kid who had probably signed up for summer work. Maybe he hadn’t finished growing, as he only came to the shoulder of the other men. He was probably Agatha’s height. Still, he looked strong enough to do the work. All three men seemed particularly suited to it.

  They hung plastic sheeting between the kitchen and the living area. “To keep out the dust,” Hunter explained.

  As they set about preparing for demolition, Tony stopped by and checked his three cameras.

  “Anything on there?” Agatha called out to him.

  He straightened and smiled. “Only squirrels, two white-tailed deer, and a possum.”

  She clapped her hands together like a child handed a balloon. No one had tried to break into her home. Yea. Shaking her head at the absurdity of it, she hurried back inside. Though there were no guests staying at the B&B for the month of August, she had a list of projects she hoped to complete while the renovation was going on.

  The workers knocked down the remainder of the wall that Agatha had started on the day before, laughing about the possibility of finding more diamonds. Derrick stopped in to gauge their progress, then left to check on another job. Before going, he dropped various paint chips on the kitchen table and told her to choose one for the walls and another for the trim.