The Wrong Bones (Widow's Island #10)(17)

Logan glared at the door. “He’s an asshole, and I hate him.”

“Same,” Tessa agreed.

“Now what?” Logan started toward the SUV.

“I don’t know.” Tessa’s mind whirled. There must be something she could do. “Technically, Chandler never accused Simon of hitting him. He said Simon hit his mother. She denied he hurt her. I didn’t see any marks on Shannon. There are no other witnesses. It will be Chandler’s word against both his parents, and they’ll stick together. We already know Simon’s record is clean. I don’t even know if they’ll lose custody. The court might make him go back. Simon’s whole kids-need-discipline spiel resonates with some judges.”

“Maybe the brother will corroborate his story. Do you think Chandler was lying?”

Tessa considered the boy. “No. I don’t. And the thought of him being forced to go home makes me sick.” She took a breath. “I want to keep Simon on our suspect list. He lived on Bainbridge when Alyssa disappeared.” While she drove, Tessa phoned Detective Kreisler and gave her a quick update. “I’d like to know if Alyssa’s family recognizes either of these men.”

“Send me their names and photos,” Kreisler said.

“Will do. And thank you.” Tessa ended the call and glanced at Logan. “Would you email Duncan Marshall and Simon Dooley’s photos to Detective Kreisler?”

“Sure.” He used the dashboard computer. “The court won’t make Chandler go back home if we prove his father is a killer.”





6


Still seething about Simon Dooley’s attitude, Logan scrolled on his smartphone. “Simon doesn’t have social media accounts. Google searches still link him to Callaway Insurance. But if I go to the company’s website now, he isn’t listed on the ‘About Our Agents’ page.”

Tessa tapped a thumb on the steering wheel. “I wonder if he quit or if he was fired from Callaway.”

He clicked on the company’s phone number, but the call went to a voice mail message. Logan ended the call. “They’re not open today. I’ll try in the morning. No one is available at Greater Pacific Insurance either.” He clicked through the menu on the website. “I don’t even see agents listed on this site. Quotes are online only.”

Tessa’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “The call is from Oregon. Looks like the owner of the rental property.” She answered the call on speaker. “Deputy Black.”

“This is Nicolas Gorzala, returning your call,” a male voice said.

“Hello, Mr. Gorzala. I have a question regarding your rental property on Widow’s Island.”

“That’s not a rental property. It’s a vacation home,” Mr. Gorzala clarified.

“So you haven’t rented it out or loaned it to a family member or friend?” Tessa asked.

“No,” he confirmed. “The house should be empty.”

“In that case, you might have trespassers.” Tessa explained that a neighbor had seen a man in the house.

“Well, he definitely doesn’t have my permission to be there,” Mr. Gorzala said.

“I have not seen the man. I’m headed there now to verify his existence in relation to another crime.” Tessa turned the SUV toward the cemetery. “If there is a trespasser, I’ll get back to you. Do I have your permission to enter the premises?”

“Yes, and thank you,” Mr. Gorzala said. “There’s a hidden key box.” He gave her the exact location and combination. “Let me know what else you need from me. I’ll fly up there if necessary.”

“I will. Thank you.” Tessa ended the call.

Logan glanced at Tessa. “Trespassers. Fun.”

She drove to the end of the lane. She came to a stop in front of the small A-frame house. She reported their location to dispatch before climbing out of her vehicle.

He sniffed the air and caught the scent of burning leaves. “I smell smoke.”

Tessa inhaled. “Me too.”

They walked around the side of the house. The smell of smoke intensified. They stopped at the corner of the A-frame and peered into the backyard. The house stood on a half acre of cleared ground. A row of evergreens separated the property from the cemetery, but Logan could see headstones through breaks in the foliage. A beat-up white pickup truck was tucked behind some bushes. Logan snapped a photo of the Washington State license plate.

The landscaping was no-fuss natural. Moss and dead leaves carpeted the ground. In the center of the yard, a man in jeans and a black T-shirt stood in front of a burn barrel, feeding items from a wooden box into the flames.

“Wonder what he’s burning,” Tessa said.

Horrified, Logan watched a spark drift through the air. “He’s going to start a wildfire.” He started forward to put a stop to the burning immediately.

Tessa touched his arm. “I’ll circle around behind him so he can’t run. Give me a minute.” Tessa veered off, sliding behind the evergreens.

Impatient, Logan gave her thirty seconds; then he walked past a picnic table covered with fish scales, feathers, blood, and bones. A swarm of flies hovered around the general gore of fish and bird cleaning. A fishing pole leaned against the table. Whoever this guy was, he knew how to survive.