Unquiet Spirits Read online

  He snorted in disgust. His best source of information so far was a ghost!

  He'd better check the driveway for any trace of the killer's movements in the damp earth before the police vehicles arrived and obliterated them. There were no footprints in the damp ruts or on the grassy crown of the driveway. The killer had probably walked off the edge of the drive just as he was doing. However, where it met the road, fresh tire tracks indicated that a car had turned around. That didn't prove it was the gunman's car. He could have approached through the bush. Besides, there was nothing distinctive about the tracks that he could see.

  The big question was how would the killer know Kit might be at the sawmill? The trip to see the birds' eggs had been a spur of the moment thing. Bart cursed under his breath. The whole world had been in the bar when he had tried to talk Kit into coming out here. Wait a minute, he could eliminate Betsy and Johanna. They knew Kit wasn't with him. But Joel and Mike and Paavo didn't know. Of course, as far as he knew none of them had a reason to want Kit dead.

  It was time to do his own serious digging into the backgrounds of every single person at Spirit Lake Resort.

  He needed that computer today. He hoped Mike's friend who owned the store in North Bay was as efficient as Mike said he was. He had to get access to the Greco Associates search engines and databases. And fast.

  But all he could do now was wait.

  * * *

  Kit was the first to notice Mike standing in the entrance to the bar. Something about the tension in his stance and the grim expression on his rugged face alerted her. Something dreadful had happened.

  "What happened?" she gasped. "Is it Bart?"

  "Bart is fine," Mike said, coming to stand by Johanna. "But there was a shooting at the sawmill."

  "For mercy's sake, Mike, tell us," Johanna said. "Was someone hurt?"

  "I'm afraid Elsa was hit." He put a hand on her shoulder. "The bullet struck her in the head and she was killed instantly. Bart said she was looking at the bird's nest when someone shot her. He didn't see the shooter. Just heard a car leaving."

  Kit was too stunned by the news to speak. Elsa had been wearing her blue slicker! Her aunt had been killed in her place! A wave of helplessness and choking guilt swept over her. She was the intended target of that bullet.

  Betsy screamed, then sat hugging herself and rocking back and forth, tears pouring down her face. Her muttered moans of "No, no, no!" were interspersed with raw, harsh sobs.

  Joel hadn't exaggerated when he said Betsy thought of Elsa as a second mother. The woman's grief was real. Kit put her arm around Betsy's shaking shoulders but she shrugged her off. Kit didn't blame her. It was her fault that Elsa was dead.

  Johanna was pale from shock but she got to her feet, ready to take charge of the situation. "Did you call the police?"

  "Bart called 911. He wanted me to break it to you before the police and ambulance got here."

  Shortly, the whole resort seemed to be overrun by OPP officers. Kit, along with everyone else who was at the lodge, was questioned briefly. But most of the police concentrated their efforts on the murder site.

  Kit's first thoughts were of Bart. She knew he would blame himself for being unable to protect Elsa and wanted to go to him. However, Grace Jacobec, the OPP sergeant in charge, insisted that nobody was to leave the lodge. The police officers outside the lodge were having enough trouble keeping out the local reporters, who apparently monitored 911 calls, without allowing everyone involved free movement around the property.

  Kit would be eternally grateful for Mike's presence. He knew all the OPP officers by name and was able to fill them in on what he knew of the situation. After Sergeant Jacobec returned from the scene of the shooting, Mike set her up at a table in the far corner of the dining room to get statements from everyone who could have been aware Elsa and Bart were setting off for the sawmill.

  Paavo enlisted Kit's help in making and serving sandwiches and coffee in the bar for everyone who was waiting to see Jacobec and for the OPP personnel who drifted in out of the damp from time to time.

  Every time she heard the door open, she hoped she would see Bart. Time and time again she was disappointed. Finally, he strode into the lobby. Even though the rain had long since ceased, dark patches on his blue knit shirt told her it was still soaking wet. His thick blond hair was dark with rain. He looked cold and totally miserable.

  When he caught sight of her, his face lit up with relief. She abandoned her tray of sandwiches on an empty table and ran to meet him. When she threw her arms around him, he clasped her fiercely in a soggy embrace. He held her so long and so tightly that she could hardly breathe but it felt wonderful. She'd give up breathing entirely if she could stay safely in Bart's strong embrace.

  When he released her, he held her face in his hands and gazed steadily into her eyes. "Are you all right, Brat?" he asked quietly.

  "I'm fine." Now that he was here, she was. "You'd better get into some dry clothes."

  What a lame greeting! That wasn't what she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him how glad she was that he wasn't the one who'd been shot. That she couldn't imagine her life without him. That Elsa's death wasn't his fault. There was no way he could have protected Elsa from a skilled man with a rifle.

  "I'll dry," he bit out.

  Mike and Johanna joined them.

  "Yeah, but I threw some jeans and a shirt in Johanna's office for you," Mike announced. "Better put them on. It's going to be a while before we can get out of here."

  Bart seemed about to argue but then he merely shrugged and stomped off in the direction of Johanna's office.

  The three of them sat down to wait for him in the nearest grouping of the colorful armchairs that were scattered around the carpeted area across from the registration desk.

  "He's feeling very guilty right now," Mike said, looking after Bart's glum figure.

  "What does he imagine he could have done to prevent the shooting?" Kit said. "Besides, I'm feeling guilty enough for both of us. The rifleman thought he was shooting me."

  "Nonsense," Johanna said. "You don't know that. And we all know the guilty person is the one who pulled the trigger."

  Bart emerged grim-faced from the office. The jeans were a bit loose around the middle but were long enough in the legs. Mike's navy T-shirt looked good on him. However, dry clothes apparently hadn't done anything to improve his mood.

  "There's nothing you could have done to protect her, you know," Johanna said.

  "And you couldn't have caught the guy," Mike added. "Whoever shot her was too far away to catch up with."

  "Don't blame yourself," Kit added.

  "My God, Kit," he snapped. "I held her up so he could have a clear shot at her!"

  "That's crap and you know it!" Mike retorted, then took a deep breath.

  "All right, at this early stage, no one has an airtight alibi." Mike was clearly determined to change the focus of the conversation. "Paavo," he held up his index finger, "was alone in his larder organizing spices and other supplies for the grand opening."

  "He wasn't in the room when Elsa and I left," Bart added.

  "He could have been within earshot."

  "But I doubt if he's an expert shot with a rifle," Kit added. And her sweet Uncle Paavo would never want to kill her.

  "I don't think he's fired a weapon since he got out of the army reserve," Johanna added. "He doesn't approve of hunting. Refuses to have any kind of game on the menu."

  "That's one thing we have to check about everyone, of course." Bart reached behind the registration counter and picked up a pen and a small pad of paper.

  "Art Harris, the ventilation man," Mike held up a second finger, "qualifies on one count because he was still in the building when you left for the sawmill. But he was more than likely on Highway 11 on his way back to his shop when Elsa was shot. That's yet to be determined."

  "What earthly motive would he have?" Kit asked.

  "Something else to check," Bart said, scribb
ling on the notepad. "Possible connections with Kit or with Elsa. We can't ignore the possibility that the rifleman knew it was Elsa he was shooting."

  Johanna shook her head. "Elsa was always quarrelling with someone, but I can't see anyone getting angry enough with her to shoot her."

  Kit's mind flashed back to the angry face of the redheaded man named Tomas. But she was inclined to agree with Johanna. She didn't think a threat to set the authorities on a roaming dog qualified as a motive for murder.

  Mike was holding up a third finger. "Then there's Joel. He's so upset about Elsa's death that he wasn't very coherent about where he was. From what I could make out, he was waiting out a rain-delayed start to his golf game at the club. They all teed off at the same time when the rain stopped. The rest of his foursome should be able to verify that."

  "Check time the rain stopped fifteen miles away at the golf course." Bart jotted another entry on his notepad.

  "Again," Kit said, "no motive. Joel doesn't want me dead. He's trying to sell me a very expensive piece of real estate for a golf course."

  "Good point," Mike held up a fourth finger. "Then there's me."

  Johanna shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly," she said.

  "I was alone in your suite, Johanna, when Kit changed her mind about going with Mike and Elsa took her place." He protested with a crooked smile. "I didn't do it but I don't have an alibi either. You and Kit and Betsy were here together and have the only real alibi. Bart is pretty well out of the running too."

  "Yeah, I was too busy holding the target," Bart muttered.

  They were interrupted by a commotion at the door. A courier had fought his way through the handful of reporters. He was waving invoices and arguing with the policemen at the door. He was determined not to leave without completing his emergency delivery.

  "Listen, man," the courier insisted loudly. "This is flagged top priority. My boss's boss will have my neck if I don't hand these six boxes to Bart Thornton this afternoon."

  While Bart hurried to make sure the courier wasn't turned away with his computer equipment, Mike went to get Sergeant Jacobec's permission to accept the delivery and take it to the cabin. He returned with the news that Grace Jacobec was about to make a brief statement to the press. The police were finished with all of them for now and they were free to leave.

  "You'd better hurry if you want to get that computer working," Mike urged. "The forecast is for thunderstorms and high winds. I can't tell you how often the power goes out up here. One tree down on the telephone lines and you're out of business for days sometimes."

  As they strode down the path through a fine drizzle, a brisk east wind hurried them along. Long before they reached the cabin, the back of Kit's sweatshirt was soaked through and she wished she had her slicker. Oh, Lord! Her slicker! Her imagination conjured up the scene with Elsa, in the bright blue coat, lying on the ground covered in blood.

  "At least this is a warm rain," she said, trying out her best Pollyanna voice. It sounded unconvincing even to her.

  "Not for long." Bart pointed to a line of much blacker clouds rushing in their direction. "That cold front is arriving right on schedule. I hope we don't get the thunderstorms with it. All I need is the power to go out the minute I get my equipment set up."

  The delivery van was parked by the cabin when they arrived. Within minutes, Bart had the door unlocked and the boxes were deposited in Bart's bedroom. As the front door closed behind the delivery men, Bart hauled Kit into his arms.

  "Kit. Kit," he kept repeating as he kissed her again and again.

  Chapter Ten

  Kit wrapped her arms around Bart and clutched him tightly against her breasts. Her hands moved in restless circles on his muscular back. He felt so good, so strong and full of life.

  His kisses were everywhere. On her neck, her jawline, her ears.

  "It could have been you, Kit!" His voice broke.

  Then, he possessed her mouth. She plunged her fingers into his hair to hold his head steady as she responded just as fiercely. She couldn't get enough of his taste, the strong thrusting of his tongue against hers. This was the way a kiss should be. No holds barred.

  Just as she was beginning to tug the back of his shirt out of his jeans, Bart stopped the motion of his tongue. She became conscious of a telephone ringing somewhere in the background. She could feel him beginning to pull away from her.

  "Don't answer," she pleaded, when she could catch her breath.

  "It could be Bret." He sounded as reluctant as she was to break apart.

  Slowly, he lowered her to her feet and stepped away from her. He yanked the cell phone out of his pants pocket.

  "Thornton," he barked into the receiver. "Sorry, Bret, but we've had a major development here. Our sniper just killed Kit's aunt, Elsa. Yeah, he's a sniper all right. He got her with one shot in the head."

  Bart wandered off into his bedroom with the phone. While Kit listened to him filling his brother in about the circumstances of Elsa's death, she took advantage of the moment to try to get a grip on her emotions and consider what she needed to do next. How could Bart snap from such intense passion to this businesslike mode? She was barely capable of coherent thought.

  "That's great," Bart was saying as he came back into the living room. "Do you know if they still live in Niagara Falls?" He sounded excited. "That's all right. I should have my computer system set up within the hour and I can do a search on that.

  "What I need you to do is patch me into the Greco Associates' search engines and the databases I need to do some in-depth searches." He winked at her. "Anything on any of the other names I gave you?"

  There was a long pause while he listened intently.

  "Thanks, Bret. That's a relief. Mike's the guy who rounded up the local ex-cops to work security for us here. No, don't come up here. I need you in Florida. Keep trying to contact Helen Dagwood. She looks like our best lead right now."

  After he ended the call, Bart teased her with a long smug smile.

  "Well," she exploded, "what did Bret find out?"

  "Mike is apparently who he says he is," he began slowly. "Joel had a colorful youth in Detroit but seems to have cleaned up his act since. The gang he was involved with ran a protection scheme and beat up a lot of kids. Joel's parents moved to Windsor to get him away from the gang before he got a police record. It seems to have worked."

  "And?" she almost shouted in exasperation. He would tease on his deathbed, which might be very soon if he didn't tell her everything Bret told him right now.

  "And, my darling Brat, your friend Helen Dagwood is the older adopted sister of your half-sister! There's every chance she's the one who told her where to find you after the board meeting."

  That couldn't be true! Helen couldn't be the killer's Florida contact. Of course, there was a chance that her half-sister was not involved with the killer. Maybe Bart was on a totally wrong tack.

  "I gather from what you said that Bret hasn't been able to reach Helen," she said.

  "Not yet. All Schofield's would tell him was that she was on vacation. And would be for another twelve days."

  "That's probably all they know. She never leaves a number where she can be reached when she takes a holiday. She says she works for Schofield's twenty-four/seven the rest of the year. I'm sure they're on the boat. And heaven knows where they are in the Caribbean." She expelled a deep breath. "Did he find out the names of the Dagwood's other adopted children?"

  "Robert, Andrew and Elizabeth Anne."

  "Elizabeth Anne," she tried out the words. "I have a sister named Elizabeth Anne."

  "Don't get too fond of her. She's probably the one who's had three attempts made on your life. Now we have to find her. And her pet sharpshooter."

  "I've been incredibly lucky." She shuddered at how close she'd come to being killed each of those times.

  "You've been hung with horseshoes, Kittle." He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a quick hard hug. "But we can't count on that con
tinuing. We have to catch this sister of yours."

  She straightened up and looked steadily into his blue eyes. It was time to show some backbone.

  "All right, do you want a pair of willing hands to help unpack and set up that computer?"

  She was rewarded by Bart's patented devilish grin.

  "Oh, Kittle, I can't let myself think about wanting your willing hands right now. We have work to do. By the way, I told Bret I'd ask you if you wanted him and Milly to come up here to be with you."

  "No." She didn't even need to think about it. "That would only put them in danger too."

  Bart nodded vigorously. "I agree. Let's get to work."

  A couple of hours later, Kit was collapsing the last of the cardboard boxes Bart's equipment came in when a loud roar of wind in the trees made her look up. Although the sun wouldn't set for another two hours, the sky was black as night. The day's steady drizzle had become a heavy downpour. Against the security lights outside the patio doors she could see small branches flying almost horizontally. A few wet leaves were plastered against the window glass. Although the cabin was warm, the mere sight of the wild night outside was chilling.

  Across the room, Bart was oblivious to the weather outside. His eyes were fixed on the monitor as his fingers flew over the keyboard of his computer.

  "I'm just about set up," he said, stopping to stretch. "We have access to the Greco Associates' databases now. Mike's coming over later to get us into some special Canadian databanks that should help us to trace the Dagwoods from a farm on the Niagara Peninsula. Give me another few minutes and we can break for something to eat."

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when a large crack of thunder shook the glass in every window in the building.

  "Damn! So much for that idea. We can't afford the delay, but we can't risk lightning frying the computer either," he grumbled as he shut everything down. He contemplated the surge bar for a second, then unplugged it. "I don't know if this would handle another lightning strike like that last one."

  "I saw some flashlights and candles in a kitchen drawer," Kit told him as she headed for the kitchen. "I'll get them out. You can get some matches from the shelf beside the fireplace. I'll try to call Helen's brother Robert to see if he can get me in touch with Helen. We can't wait until she gets back from holiday to find out where to find Elizabeth Anne."