Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
O phelia couldn’t feel her legs. She needed a massage—a long, luxurious session where someone worked out every knot until she could remember what warmth felt like. “Let’s do this so we can get some sleep.” When was the last time she’d been up for more than twenty-four hours? She couldn’t remember, and the world felt fuzzy.
“Agreed.” Brock pushed open the door just as David and Monica walked out, bundled in their winter gear.
“Hi,” Monica said, her voice softening as she caught sight of them. “Amka made her orange scones today, so we stopped by for breakfast. Oh, Lord. I’m so sorry.” She lowered her voice, sympathy etched across her face. “I heard about Tamara. Do you know who did it?”
Ophelia shook her head. “How in the world did you hear already?”
“Ace was here for scones,” David said. “He mentioned that Christian called him. It’s so sad.”
Ophelia cut Brock a look. She knew that Ace was avoiding them. Dread skittered down her back. This was going to be a disaster. Her mind fuzzed from lack of sleep and she studied the couple.
“You two look exhausted,” Monica said gently, wearing black jeans, fur-lined boots, and a red sweater that made her look both festive and warm.
David nodded, dressed in his usual jeans and a flannel shirt, though the bright red color stood out against the muted gray and white of the winter scenery. “Get some sleep. For now, I need to plow closer to EVE today. They’re having electrical problems again, but I don’t think the road’s passable.”
“No, it’s not,” Brock said. “Don’t hurt yourself or put yourself out. They built their facility way out there on purpose, and they’ve got their own plane.”
David shrugged. “All right. I’ll take it as far as Raven’s Pass but no farther.”
“Good plan,” Brock said. “We don’t need to gather another search party together already.”
David grinned, looking boyish despite the weight of the conversation. “No worries. I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
Monica elbowed him. “It’s already planned. All you need to do is show up.”
David gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not convinced about the vanilla cake. I think I want butterscotch.”
Monica’s eyebrows rose. “You want a butterscotch wedding cake?”
“Sure, why not?” David asked, unbothered.
Monica glanced down, thinking. “Well…we could do one layer of butterscotch, I guess. I’ve just never seen that before.”
“There you go,” David said, grinning. “See? I’m helping.”
Monica rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Oh—Ophelia. I went through some of my winter boxes and found a parka I think will fit you. It’s a little longer in the arms so will fit you, but I don’t wear it anymore. I gave it to Amka to save for you when you came in.”
Ophelia’s heart warmed. “Thank you. That’s so nice of you.”
Monica waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ve got extra snow boots somewhere too, but they might be out at the shop where David keeps the snowplows. We’ll head out there later this week and I’ll dig through them.”
“That’d be great, but there’s no hurry. These are surprisingly warm.” Ophelia looked down at the snow boots Amka had given her.
David draped his arm over Monica’s shoulders. “Come on, hon. We’ve gotta go.” He steered her toward the lumbering snowplow across the street.
“I need coffee.” Ophelia walked inside and spotted Jarod by the fireplace, a mug cradled in his hands, steam curling upward.
Amka bustled behind the bar, wiping it down with precise, almost obsessive movements.
“That guy really doesn’t do a damn thing, does he?” Ophelia muttered under her breath.
“Nope,” Brock said. His voice dropped. “You need me?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
Brock’s expression tightened, but he nodded. He stepped toward Amka at the bar as Ophelia wound her way through the tables toward the fire.
Jarod looked up as she approached, his brown eyes darkening as a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face.
“Well, hello, Agent.” He kicked the chair across from him out with his foot. “Why don’t you sit your pretty self down?”
“Gee, thanks.” She pulled out the chair and lowered herself into it. The warm scent of whiskey drifted toward her, mingling with the smell of wood smoke. She glanced at his mug. “Hot toddy?”
He nodded. “Would you like one?”
Ophelia hesitated, then sighed. “No. I need coffee.” And three days of sleep.
Jarod raised his hand. “Hey, Amka—coffee over here.”
“I can get it,” Ophelia muttered.
“No, no. I’ve got it,” Amka called, waving her hand as she hurried toward them, the white apron around her waist cinched tightly. She set the steaming mug down in front of Ophelia and patted her arm. “This will warm you up, Olly.”
Ophelia managed a smile. “Thanks.”
Jarod watched Amka walk back to the bar, his gaze lingering.
“You’re an interesting couple,” Ophelia said.
Jarod’s grin widened, but something flickered behind his eyes—something Ophelia couldn’t read. “Thank you.”
Ophelia couldn’t feel her legs anymore. The warmth from the fire nearby barely made a dent against the cold that had settled deep in her bones. She wrapped her fingers tighter around the mug, the heat seeping into her palms as she watched Jarod’s smug smile stretch across his face.
“We’re a great couple,” Jarod said with a lazy grin. “She’s a bit of a worker bee. Not exactly a queen, but you do what you gotta do.” His teeth were white and straight, almost unnaturally perfect.
What an annoying statement. “What does that mean?” Ophelia asked, keeping her tone neutral.
“It means you’re a queen.” He winked. “But you probably already knew that.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She might actually have to put this guy on his ass. The thought made her lips twitch into a small, involuntary smile.
Mistaking it as interest, Jarod’s grin grew wider. “So…you wanted to see me?”
“Actually.” She placed her mug on the table carefully. “I want to talk to you about Tamara Randsom.”
His expression sobered in an instant. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Heard you found her dead.” He shook his head slowly. “I figured she’d run off with some rich guy and headed to the Caribbean or somewhere warm.” His eyes shifted toward the windows, as if imagining sunshine and turquoise waters. “That’s what I’d do.”
“Then why are you here?” Ophelia asked, filing away his statement for later. She made a mental note to run a full background check on him.
Jarod’s head lifted, his gaze sharpening as he stared at her for a long beat before flicking purposefully toward Amka, who was busy cleaning glasses behind the bar. “Love,” he said simply, his voice softer. “This is where she lives. This is where she wants to be. If I could get her to move to an island, believe me, Chickie, I would.”
Ophelia blinked. “Did you just call me Chickie ?”
His grin didn’t falter. “Yeah.”
“How old are you?” she blurted.
He raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-nine. How about you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Ah. I’m older.” His grin widened. “What do you think about older men?”
Right now, she thought he was a complete ass. “When was the last time you saw Tamara Randsom?” She steered the conversation back on track.
He shrugged and took a slow sip of his drink. “Probably sometime in April or May.”
“Before she disappeared, you were her landlord, correct?”
He sat back, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “Yep. I owned the Tundra.”
“How long did you own the Tundra?”
“For about five years,” he said. “Inherited it from some aunt I barely knew. That’s when I moved up here.”
“Did it make good money?”
He lifted a shoulder lazily. “It brought in some cash, but the place needed more repairs than you’d think. There wasn’t great money in it.” He paused, eyes glinting. “The hour-by-hour stuff was good, though. Not a lot of that around here.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Ophelia leaned forward slightly. “There are a few rumors…like you and Tamara had a relationship.”
Jarod’s expression tightened for the first time. “Oh no,” he said smoothly. “We didn’t have a relationship.”
“Did you have sex?” she asked bluntly.
He smiled again, the charm sliding back into place like a mask. “Agent, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Ophelia’s voice hardened. “Keep in mind that lying to a federal agent is a crime.”
Jarod’s smile disappeared. “Then I plead the Fifth.”
She took that as a yes. “When was the last time you and Tamara were together?”
“I didn’t say we were,” he said evenly. “And again, I’m pleading the Fifth.”
Ophelia inhaled slowly through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm. “Do you know if anyone else was involved with Tamara?”
Jarod looked away, pretending to think. “Fred Jeronimish, for sure. They went on a couple of dates in town before he left.”
“When did he leave?”
“May, maybe? About a month before she disappeared.” Jarod took another sip of his hot toddy. “She was missing him, though. Drank a little too much, feeling sorry for herself. But I’m sure she found someone to take his place.” He winked again.
Ophelia resisted the urge to punch him. “Anyone else?”
Jarod leaned back, crossing his arms. “Osprey. Ace, I mean. They shared a weekend. I remember that one.”
She kept her face neutral. “Anyone else?”
Jarod shrugged. “Probably. She picked up guys from town sometimes. I remember there was a fishing crew here one weekend from Anchorage. Pretty sure she banged at least two of them.”
Ophelia’s stomach churned, but she kept her voice steady. “It’s my understanding that Hank Osprey might have used the complex as a motel from time to time.”
Jarod blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, he might have.”
“Who did he see there?”
“I have no idea.” Jarod’s face darkened. “Hank paid me by the hour and told me if I was anywhere near the place while he was there, he’d kill me—and I believed him. So I stayed away. I don’t know who he saw. Could’ve been Tamara, for all I know. Or maybe he did something spy-like with the military. Or whatever. But believe me, that was not a man you messed with.”
Ophelia’s spine straightened at the raw honesty in his voice. “So, you’re telling me that Hank Osprey met someone at that complex a summer ago, and no one knew who?”
Jarod shifted uneasily. “I’m not even sure he met someone. Could’ve just needed time alone. I don’t know.”
“How did the Tundra burn down?”
“Faulty wiring,” Jarod said, lifting his shoulders again. “That place was a wreck. Hard to keep up. I don’t miss it.”
She didn’t like how his gaze flicked away. “But it was the only motel in town. When you got hunting or fishing tours, you made money, right?”
“Yeah, some.” He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his mug. “Insurance gave me a hundred grand. I considered going somewhere warm, but…” His gaze moved to Amka, where she chattered with Brock at the bar. Jarod’s gaze hardened.
Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “Do you still have the money?”
“Most of it,” Jarod replied. His grin returned. “I’m thinking of taking a trip to Anchorage for the weekend. I’m sure you have research to do there.”
She blinked. “Did you just ask me to go to Anchorage with you?”
Jarod leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Is that an offer?”
Ophelia’s jaw tightened. “Absolutely not.”
His expression didn’t waver.
“Did you kill Tamara Randsom?” Ophelia’s voice dropped to a cold whisper.
“Of course not,” Jarod said smoothly.
“I need the name of your insurance adjuster as well as his friend from Anchorage who brought the cadaver dog to town.”
Jarod sipped his drink. “Gosh darn it. I don’t remember.”
“It’s a felony to lie to a federal investigator,” Ophelia said.
He swallowed. “I’m not lying. I don’t remember the adjuster’s name, and I’m not even sure he introduced me to the guy with the dog. Sorry.”
Ophelia dug deep for patience. “All right. Give me the name of your insurance agency.”
His brow crinkled, and he looked up at the ceiling. “Darn it. Don’t remember.”
What a jerk. “That’s suspicious. Did you harm Tamara and then burn down your own complex?”
“Of course not.”
Fine. Ophelia would obtain a subpoena for his financial records, and she’d also contact the Alaska Division of Insurance Agency for their records. “Did you hurt Tamara in any manner?”
He smirked. “Tammy was a good lay. Why would I kill her?”
Her hands curled into fists beneath the table. “Why are you engaged to that lovely woman if you so obviously can’t commit?”
“We’re not married yet.” He leaned toward her, his gaze intense. “I’m not the only one who can’t commit.”
She kept herself still and in control. “Meaning what?”
He shrugged, slyly licking his lips. “Guess who else used the Tundra for some nookie?”
She didn’t want to hear this. “Who?”
His focus flicked to the bar and back. “David Laurence dumped Monica Luna on Thanksgiving of last year. She rented a room from me for two months.”
Relief filtered through Ophelia. His sly look had thrown her off. “All right. So Monica lived at the Tundra. What’s your point?”
“My point? Your so loyal boyfriend, who I’m sure tells you everything, stayed the night with her that December. You know what, Agent?” He leaned even closer to her, the whiskey on his breath wafting over her face. “They were together the night…and morning of Hank Osprey’s death.”
Her stomach dropped.
Satisfaction filled Jarod’s gaze as he now sat back. “Now, I have to wonder. Why wouldn’t Brock give you his alibi for that murder? Perhaps she was his accomplice?”