Chapter Nine #2
He met her gaze and gave a nod. His simple promise might be hard to keep. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news when it came to her twin. When it involved Madison, Mollie’s rational behavior took on an erratic twist. But right now, there wasn’t time for an in-depth discussion.
He took the last turn leading to his grandpa’s house.
Though Spence had never lived there, the rambling gray structure with a darker gray roof and white trim felt like home.
Here was where the Cameron clan gathered for holidays and birthdays.
One of his cousins got married in the rose garden.
Though his grandma passed away eleven years ago, there were always people living in the house—a housekeeper, who resided in a cottage behind the barn, and a gardener.
In addition to managing the livestock, he tended the two-acre garden and a wide variety of fruit trees, including apple, cherry, pear and peach.
One of the joys of the Willamette Valley came from the incredibly fertile, nutrient-rich volcanic soil.
When the Escalade glided out of the old-growth forest and approached Grandpa’s house, Mollie gasped. “Wow, it’s exactly the same as I remember.”
“Not entirely.” The two-story structure with gabled roof and a long veranda didn’t appear to have changed, but Spence had made improvements.
Added a camera surveillance system throughout the five-acre property.
Security for the house included state-of-the-art motion detection and an impregnable safe room.
Though Grandpa didn’t agree with his protective measures, Spence figured a lifetime as an attorney created a lot of enemies.
He didn’t want anyone in his family to be an easy target.
Mollie leaned forward in her seat and pointed at the front veranda, where a slender, delicate woman with glossy, black curls falling past her shoulders stood behind the railing, looking pretty as a picture.
“It’s Bethany,” Mollie said. “I’ve missed her so much.”
Since Bethany Randolph handled most of Irma’s business affairs and often consulted with CLF, Spence knew her better than the other Clovers.
Unlike the twins and Erin, Bethany was an orphan.
Both parents died in a small plane crash, and her great-aunt Irma became her legal guardian.
She was the oldest and definitely the most mature of the group.
As soon as he parked the Escalade, Mollie bolted from the car and dashed toward the porch.
Bethany vaulted down the three steps from the veranda and ran to meet her cousin.
Excited shouting, hugging, laughing and crying ensued.
Instantly, these two Clovers renewed their friendship.
Though Mollie’s appearance in the teal dress was the height of elegance and Bethany, wearing a black, mid-calf dress with a chic white collar, was adult and appropriate, the two women seemed like giddy teenagers.
They clung to each other, affirming life after their mutual loss of Irma Winchell.
When Rossi parked the third car, Erin and her daughter rushed out and merged with the other two for a wild, happy dance. Little Amy fit right in, adding her own yelps and whoops to the Clover greeting.
Rossi stepped away from the SUV and joined Spence as they watched the joyful reunion.
The three women made an interesting picture.
Erin’s dark blonde ponytail flounced as she bounced like a jumping bean in a floral-patterned jumpsuit.
Bethany—with her black hair and black dress—attached to each of the others in prolonged hugs.
Clinging to the past? To better times? Spence couldn’t take his gaze away from Mollie.
A blond sunbeam, she was ephemeral and somehow magic.
He would not allow anything bad to happen to her.
“The three of them are something else,” Rossi said. “They sure don’t look like heiresses.”
Though Spence didn’t know the precise terms of Irma’s will, he was fairly sure that the Clovers would inherit big-time. “Those three ladies are among the wealthiest in the county.”
Rossi checked his wristwatch. “I’ll leave Quintana here to bodyguard while I zip into Salem and drop off Mollie’s note at the forensic lab.”
“Hold off on that for a moment,” Spence said.
Though he had just warned Mollie about withholding information, he decided to take the next logical step in the investigation without consulting her.
He’d talked to her about accessing police information and hoped she would understand.
Their investigation needed to use the resources the FBI could provide. “I’ll put in a call to Jamison first.”
As the Clovers and Rossi went into the house, Spence strolled onto the veranda and took out his phone.
Because he had set up such stringent surveillance and alarm systems at this property, he felt safer here than almost anywhere else in the Willamette Valley.
Drone surveillance was still a possibility, but he couldn’t very well erect a giant umbrella over Grandpa’s five acres.
Jamison answered quickly. “Spence, I was wondering when you’d call.”
“Been busy.” An understatement. “I need a favor.”
“Always glad to be of service to my favorite bodyguard,” he said. “First, I’ve got new information on our sniper.”
“That was fast.”
“Salem has a small airport facility, but they still take security seriously. Last night the local cops reviewed footage from every angle to determine how the sniper got access. They used CCTV, private surveillance cameras and witness testimony.”
Which was pretty much what Spence would have requested. “What did they find?”
“This is dramatic,” Jamison said. “How about a drumroll? Or maybe just ask nicely.”
“Pretty please with a Voodoo-Donut on top.”
“Only if it’s a maple bacon bar. I don’t much care for the tie-dyed look of the Grateful Dead donut or the one with Twix cereal on top.”
His cheerful, chatty comments surprised Spence. Jamison usually acted like a laconic FBI agent unless he was plucking his banjo. Even then, he let his instrument do the talking. “Just tell me what’s up.”
“What’s your problem? Get up on the wrong side of bed?”
“Are you going to help me with forensics or not?”
Jamison cleared his throat. “After many hours reviewing evidence, the cops identified the sniper who appears to be a tall, thin male. He wore a hoodie and a mask, so facial recognition technology wasn’t useful. But the guy driving his truck wasn’t so careful. We have a positive ID on Julio Flores.”
Madison’s lover was supposedly killed in the yacht explosion. But he was here. In Salem. And he was after Mollie.