Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(49)
“So they knew you were there,” Kellen said.
“I don’t know if they knew someone was there, or if that’s simply a precaution they employ. In the future, I should expect more professionalism from these people.” He picked a piece of lint off his knee. “I originally believed this smuggling was the work of an amateur, and I saw no reason to think it wouldn’t be easily handled. I now think I will be handling the situation differently.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’ll position myself in the rocks and watch for a landing. I want to know who’s doing this. If I can find that out and pass the information to the Coast Guard, that will simplify their very difficult job.”
“Are smugglers there every night?”
“If they were, the Coast Guard would have already arrested them. They’re watching, but—winter weather blasts the coast with one crisis after another, boaters go out in terrific storms, rescue takes precedence over smuggling and the Coasties are spread thin.”
“So you’re going to sit out in the rocks in the storms and the rain and the wind and the cold until you catch somebody in the act?”
“I do know how to care for myself, Miss Adams.”
“Of course you do.” She couldn’t tell if he was sarcastic or merely austere. The cat came over and wound itself around her ankles. She absentmindedly leaned down to pet it, tried to think how best to warn him of the danger he courted. “Mr. Gilfilen, I think we can make the assumption that Priscilla ran into these smugglers and was murdered. Whoever this is, they’re ruthless and cruel. I beg you, be vigilant, and if you need help, please know you can contact me and I will somehow assist you.” She found herself making the offer in an imitation of his dry and formal manner. “I also know how to take care of myself.”
“I appreciate that, Miss Adams. You will be the one I call.” He stood and gestured her toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to start my nightly vigil.”
Right. She was being invited to leave. She gave the cat a last scratch, gave Mr. Gilfilen a nod and stepped out into the corridor.
In the darkness, surrounded by the rubbery smell of new carpet and the moldy smell of old drapes, she made a decision: her working day was officially over.
Outside, the clear sky had dropped the temperature to below freezing. Kellen went through the employee dining room, located a winter coat that was both too big and not heavy enough and headed across the grounds to her cottage. As she walked, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it.
Leo. Good news, she hoped. She answered, “Hi, Leo, how’s Annie?”
“She’s doing well. Sitting up, eating solids and complaining that she wants out of the hospital so the Di Luca Late and Cheery Christmas celebration can begin. The doctor promises, if she continues to do well, she can leave in the morning.”
“That’s wonderful. I’ll let everyone know. Did you hear anything about our autopsy?”
“That’s one of the things I’m calling about. I talked to Mike Sun. He hasn’t seen Lloyd Magnuson. He hasn’t seen a body.”
Kellen stopped walking. “What? Lloyd didn’t deliver?”
“I talked to Sheriff Kwinault in Virtue Falls. She hasn’t heard from Lloyd Magnuson at all. She didn’t know we’d found a body here.”
Kellen couldn’t believe it. She knew Lloyd was ill suited for the police job, but this was ridiculous. “He said he was going to inform all necessary law enforcement. Where did he take the body?”
Leo spelled it out. “No one’s seen him. His phone is going to voice mail. Lloyd Magnuson has disappeared.”
Kellen’s exasperation turned to dread, and as it did, she pivoted and looked at her surroundings. Beyond her stretched the cold darkness that reached into space and in all directions as far as the eye could see. Yet she stood in a lighted path, a clear target for the enemy. For the cruelly deceptive Librarian. Kellen turned back toward the resort and started walking again, more briskly and with a clear destination in mind. “What do we suspect? That he ran off with the body?”
“I’ve known Lloyd Magnuson since he arrived in Cape Charade. He’s not a master criminal. He’s not even a petty thief. He might not be terribly bright, but he’s honest. He wouldn’t steal Priscilla’s body, so…”
“So somehow he was diverted from his destination.”
“Yes. Before I called, I sent a neighbor over to check his house. The door was unlocked—”
“Unlocked?”
“Cape Charade’s a small town. No one locks the door unless they’re having an affair.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Lloyd’s not home. No sign of him, no sign of foul play. Sheriff Kwinault has alerted her officers to watch along his route.”
“Okay.” The situation had suddenly become a lot more tense. “Leo, do you have firearms here at the resort?”
“Yes, of course.” His voice turned taut, worried. “But—”
“I’m former military. I know how to handle firearms and I’m not quick on the draw.” She didn’t mind giving him reassurance; having an armed employee was a serious matter and he had no idea of her shooting temperament. “I’ve got a Glock 21 SF that I can carry for my own safety and the safety of others at the resort. But it’s too big to be easily concealed and I don’t want to alarm guests or employees.”