Silent Rain Page 3

  Peter Granger likes you. That poem you read at poetry night at the café blew him away. And you already know Hannah.

  I’ve never spoken to her. She doesn’t know I exist.

  Lara wasn’t having it. Don’t be ridiculous. She thinks your work is fabulous.

  Grace had been taken aback at the way Lara had sauntered into the Granger’s house like she owned the place. She was heavier then and favored vibrant, close-fitting dresses. She’d been so flustered after Peter’s long hug she’d stumbled over her lines as she introduced Grace. Peter had taken Grace’s hand and kissed her on both cheeks.

  That was a brilliant little poem you read. We must talk. Be sure to find me later.

  Hannah had taken Grace by the arm before she’d had a chance to respond. It had felt strange being singled out when there were so many other guests gathered in the downstairs rooms, each one with a drink and a smile for their hostess. A woman wearing a white shirt and black trousers had handed her a glass of champagne. Grace had felt as if she’d been transported onto a film set. Nothing seemed real. Hannah had led her through the house, introducing her to everyone they met as the rising star in the college’s art department. Grace was only halfway through her sophomore year so she’d been surprised Hannah knew anything about her. Hannah was a well-known figure on campus. A retrospective of her paintings was on show at the campus art gallery and her graduate seminars were highly selective. She’d draped an arm around Grace’s slim shoulders and squeezed.

  Someday soon you’ll be my student. She’d held Grace a little tighter. That’s when the fun will really begin. More champagne?

  Peter had been drunk when he’d caught hold of Grace as she was coming out of an upstairs bathroom. If not for the sudden appearance of another guest, Grace may not have been able to slip away unmolested. It was only later that she learned that he and Hannah adhered to a very loose interpretation of their marriage vows.

  * * *

  Grace wrapped her arms around Lara and all she felt were bones. Lara had lost more than twenty pounds in past six months. Her sole focus was getting her book published, but so far there’d been thirty-six rejection letters from publishers and her agent was gently suggesting that Lara start something new. Lara wasn’t taking it well. Without anything more than a dream to sustain her, she was slowly wasting away.

  Clare arrived at around half past one. She couldn’t believe it when she saw what Grace was wearing. They were all the same age, but that didn’t stop Clare from trying to mother her. After handing Grace her coat and some snow boots, she slipped her black leather gloves over Grace’s blue fingers.

  “You need to take better care of yourself,” whispered Clare. “It can’t be good for you to get so cold.”

  A man ran up and joined a group that was already gathered near them.

  “Man, have you heard what happened at the K-Bar?” he asked. “Someone pulled a knife. It was mental.”

  Grace pictured the man who’d given her his business card. She hoped he was okay.

  Lara sipped coffee from Clare’s thermos. “Christ, did you hear that? It must have happened right after I left,” she said.

  “It was a weird crowd,” said Grace. “Lots of guys from out of town.”

  “My mom is going to freak when she finds out about tonight,” said Clare. “She only let me come to Bolton College because she thinks it’s safe here.”

  2

  Tuesday

  Macy pointed to an empty chair at the kitchen table where her son’s scrambled eggs were growing cold. “Luke, for the tenth time, sit down and finish your breakfast.”

  Luke ran through the living room with a Batman cape tied around his neck. His unruly dark hair stuck out at all angles and he was grinning from ear to ear. He was nearly naked under his cape. Macy was always trying to get more clothing on him but he seemed to run a few degrees hotter than everyone else. She found it came in handy during the cold winter nights when he climbed into her bed. It was like sleeping with a radiator.

  Macy got up from the table and went into the kitchen so she could cut him off as he made his usual circumnavigation of the downstairs rooms. Her wet hair was wrapped up in a towel. Unlike Luke she was fully dressed and ready for work. Her suitcase and bag sat next to the door leading out to the garage. She’d only packed for a few days. She was hopeful that was enough.

  Macy poked her head around the corner where she stood hidden and waiting for her son.

  “Luke?”

  Luke shrieked with laughter. Macy turned around and he waved at her from the kitchen table. He held up a spoon and smiled broadly.

  “Mommy, sit down ten times!”

  Macy was tempted to take her turn running through the downstairs rooms but thought better of it. She didn’t have time for games. It took a little over an hour and a half to drive to Bolton from Helena and they were expecting her before lunch. She returned to her seat and made a point of putting on her napkin and sitting up properly. Luke mimicked her every move. She’d found this game of his a little disconcerting until her mother pointed out that it was the perfect way to get Luke to do exactly what you wanted. Macy took a bite of her eggs and so did Luke. She reached for her cup of coffee and Luke reached for his glass of orange juice.

  The key turned in the front door and both Macy and Luke looked up. Luke was up and out of his chair like a shot when he heard his grandmother say good morning.

  “Grandma is home!” he yelled.

  Macy checked the clock above the stove and gave her mother a wry smile. She was tempted to ask Ellen what kind of time she called this but knew better than to make jokes about her mother’s walk of shame. Situations like this required delicacy. It had been a little more than three years since Macy’s father died of cancer, and Ellen had waited long enough to start dating again. Macy knew her mother had doubts about moving on and teasing her wouldn’t help her confidence. But that same sensitivity didn’t stop Macy from running a background check on her mother’s new boyfriend. For Ellen it was enough to know that Jeff was a doctor. In Macy’s eyes it was far more complicated. She’d never again take it for granted that someone was innocent based solely on his or her stature in the community. She’d seen too many cases where that simply wasn’t the case.

  Ellen picked up Luke and held him tight.

  “There’s more coffee. Would you like some?” asked Macy.

  “No, thank you, Jeff took me out for breakfast at that new restaurant on Fourth.”

  “Oh, nice. I know the one. How was your evening?”

  “Wonderful,” said Ellen. She deposited her grandson in his chair and took a seat across from Macy. “We had a last-minute dinner invitation at the home of a couple he’s known for years. Turns out I know them too.”

  “Hardly surprising,” said Macy. “You’ve lived in Helena for nearly forty years. I doubt there are many people you haven’t met.”

  “True,” she said, glancing over at Macy’s suitcase. “I got your message. Where are you off to this morning?”

  “Bolton. There was a fire last night. Too early to say if it’s arson, but it looks like a famous author may have died.”

  “Peter Granger,” said Ellen. “I saw it on the news. Wasn’t his wife in the house too? She’s famous in her own right, you know. A well-known artist. Her work is highly prized.”

  “And controversial.”

  “Apparently, that’s part of its charm.”

  “Anyway,” said Macy. “All we know for sure is there are two bodies. Given the fire damage, we may have to wait for the state medical examiner to make a formal identification.”

  “Doesn’t Bolton have its own detectives? You’re usually farmed out to smaller communities.”

  “Six detectives on staff, to be exact.” Macy wiped her mouth with her napkin and smiled when she noticed Luke was mimicking her again. “There were several fires last night and an incident at one of the bars in town.”

  “What sort of incident?”

  “Drunken, most li
kely. Some place was holding an Elvis lookalike contest. Things got heated and one Elvis stabbed another Elvis. The victim is in critical condition and the perpetrator is on the run. The Bolton PD have been rounding up Elvis impersonators all night.”

  “If it wasn’t so tragic it would make for great comedy. You can just imagine the line-ups. Doesn’t explain why they need six detectives working the case, though.”

  “I spoke to the chief of police earlier. One of their detectives is taking some time off to deal with family issues and another is out due to illness. They’re swamped. Given the fire may have been accidental, they thought it best to hand it over to the state so our crime-scene techs will handle everything, but we’ll have a couple of local officers assigned to us and use other support services.”

  “You said an arsonist was setting fires all over town?”

  “A couple of cars, a shed, and a Dumpster. This was the only house that went up in flames. It may not be related.”

  “I like Bolton. I’ve often thought it would be a better place to settle long term. There’s a bit more going on there.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I loved living there when I was an undergraduate.” Macy checked the time. “I need to scoot,” she said. “I hope I haven’t spoiled your plans by springing this trip on you last minute.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Ellen. “You have to go where they send you. It’s been nice having you here for a few months straight though. We were feeling spoiled.”

  Macy took Luke’s hand and led him into the living room. “I promised to finish the book I’ve been reading to Luke before I left, so I best get on it.”

  Ellen started to tidy up the dishes.

  “Leave those, Mom. I’ll deal with it,” said Macy.

  Ellen waved her daughter off. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you. It’s the least I can do.”

  * * *

  The cars on Main Street moved at a sluggish pace, eventually coming to a full stop in front of the K-Bar, where Bolton Police Department vehicles were parked two-deep. A length of sidewalk was cordoned off and pedestrians loitered at the barrier with their phone cameras held up high. A single reporter stood with a microphone and a camera on a tripod, trying to look appropriately serious. From the waist up he wore a suit and tie, but from the waist down jeans and tennis shoes.

  Macy edged past the bar in her state-issue SUV. She could have gone around but had to admit she was as curious as everyone else who’d paused to gawk. This kind of thing didn’t normally happen in Bolton where the police department, though pragmatic, had a solid reputation. As a special investigator working for the Montana Department of Justice, she was usually sent to towns where local police departments lacked manpower and facilities. Here in Bolton she would have to be diplomatic. They may have requested her assistance but that didn’t mean they weren’t territorial. If it turned out Peter Granger and his wife, Hannah, were murdered, it would be a very high-profile case. They might end up regretting their decision to hand it over to the state.

  Macy took a right on Dukes Avenue and headed south toward an area famous for its historic homes. Halloween decorations were draped from almost every front porch and autumn leaves carpeted the lawns and sidewalks. Madison Road was blocked off to through traffic. A crime-scene tech van was parked in front of the Granger’s residence next to a handful of construction vehicles and police cars. Macy pulled up to the house and checked her phone. There’d been several new messages, but nothing that needed her attention immediately.

  It was possible to see straight through what had once been an imposing three-story home. Dark soot covered the sloping front lawn and sidewalk. A chain saw whined as a worker wearing protective gear lopped off dead branches from a badly burned oak tree overhanging the front porch. The neighbors had been lucky. The homes were far enough apart to avoid fire damage, though Macy doubted they’d be able to get the smell of smoke out of their homes for years. According to preliminary reports the fire had spread quickly and burned out of control for hours.

  Macy spotted Ryan Marshall and went over to speak to him. Ryan was one of the state’s top crime scene investigators and one of Macy’s closest colleagues. It was always a relief when she found out they’d be working together. Aside from his protective suit, Ryan was wearing work gloves and a hardhat. His handlebar mustache had grown even more outrageous since she’d last seen him. It was only a matter of time before someone at the Helena office told him to rein it in.

  “I’m a little surprised to see you,” he said, holding up the crime scene tape for her. “I heard you were in Creek looking for a lost sheriff.”

  “He wasn’t lost, he was dead.”

  “Any leads?”

  “It was suicide. I was there and back in the same day.”

  Macy studied what was left of the once-grand home. There were lots of photos of the mansion on the Internet. It was considered one of the most historically significant homes in Montana. Following the Granger’s extensive restoration, it was featured in a number of national magazines. They’d reportedly spent over a million dollars on the construction work. The amount they’d spent on the artwork and furnishings that packed its rooms was a matter of speculation. Macy was pretty sure the contents would have been insured for millions and the payout to the beneficiary would be enormous. If it turned out to be arson, that had to be looked at as a possible motive.

  “So what do we have so far?” Macy asked.

  “It’s still early so not a great deal, but we’ve been interviewing the fire crews that were first on the scene. They’ve been pretty consistent. The fire started low at multiple points of origin and moved fast. The structure is wood framed, but the smoke was pitch-black, much like you expect in the presence of an accelerant like gasoline.”

  “Any fuel cans found on-site?”

  “Not yet. They also noticed that interior doors had been propped open and there was some damage to the ceiling in the living room that didn’t look fire related. Someone might have been punching holes and opening doors to create better ventilation. The more oxygen, the faster a fire spreads.”

  “Are we any closer to establishing a positive ID?” she asked.

  “I managed to take a few preliminary photos before the structure was declared unsafe but I can’t say much other than our victims are, in all likelihood, a man and a woman. Everything I’ve learned since then has come from peering through the windows.” He pointed to the construction crew milling around a truck carrying heavy steel beams. “We’re having to reinforce the building before we can start work. So far we have two bodies in the ground-floor living room lying in a four-poster bed. It’s always possible we’ll find more fatalities.”

  “Why is the bed in the middle of living room?”

  “The master bedroom is directly over the living room. At some point the ceiling caved in,” said Ryan.

  “We need to confirm identification as soon as possible.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem once I have access.”

  “Who have you been liaising with from the Bolton PD?” asked Macy. “I don’t want to put anyone out by not keeping them up to date on developments.”

  “Same officer who’s heading up the Elvis homicide investigation, Detective Brad Hastings.” He checked the time. “Should be dropping by soon.”

  “It’s a homicide now? I hadn’t realized the victim had died.”

  “Went into cardiac arrest on the operating table an hour ago. Never woke up. His father is one of the biggest political donors in this part of the state, which is probably why Bolton PD handed us this investigation. Peter and Hannah Granger are from California. Politics are way out in left field, so almost zero local interest from that standpoint.”

  “There’s another way of looking at it. By all accounts the knife attack last night was vicious and unprovoked. Bolton isn’t a town that sees that kind of violence. I don’t think there’s been a murder here in years. The guy is on the loose. There’s more of a sense of urgency.
”

  “I hate to break it to the good people of Bolton but, given what the firemen have told us, I think the body count around here is rising fast.” He hesitated. “It’s a shame. I’d like to think places like this still exist.”

  “You’re showing a softer side this morning. What’s up with that?”

  “I have my reasons,” he said.

  Macy kept her voice low. “Did you meet someone?”

  “Maybe. Just not willing to elaborate at this point.”

  “I know how to get you talking. I’ll take you out for a drink tonight.”

  “I quit drinking.”

  She staggered back a step. “Excuse me?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s only temporary. We decided to do it together. All bets are off come Christmas.”

  “So, there is someone,” said Macy. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Get this case wrapped up and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Somewhat out of my control, but I’ll do my best.”

  Macy fell into step next to Ryan as they made their way across the Granger’s sloping front lawn.

  “Anyway, Mr. Softy, there’s still a chance this was an accident,” she said. “I had a look online. There are lots of photos of the home’s interior. They liked to throw big parties and had a fondness for candlelight.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m looking for the source of the fire.”

  “They were also both smokers. Could be as simple as falling asleep with a lit cigarette in that big four-poster bed.”

  “Couldn’t have originated in a bedroom. There were multiple points of origin but they were all on the ground floor. That doesn’t happen by accident.”