Love Under Fire Page 7

  He could empathize with that.

  Molly’s attitude toward him slipped from tearful to reasonable. Any tears she swiped now were on account of an onion.

  “As soon as the police are satisfied, and we’re looking at days here, you’ll be paid out.”

  Molly sniffed. “When you say police I take it you mean Jo Jellic? Everyone knows she doesn’t like Rocky. Believe me, she’ll do her damnedest to see he comes off worst.” She shook her head, blinking at the strong fumes. “As if a man would do that to himself. My Rocky was in agony. Slept on his stomach for weeks.”

  “Understandable, I saw the photo.” He’d had another look at the photos after he’d dumped his duffel on board. That was the weakest link in Jo’s case. It took guts to deliberately set fire to yourself. Rocky didn’t seem top-heavy in that department.

  Nodding her agreement, she said, “Could have been worse. His burns stung, but he could be dead now.” She scooped the onions into a bowl with the rest of the vegetables, then turning her back on Rowan she tipped them into the stew and gave it a stir. “Can you imagine the sort of low-life it takes to even think of doing that? They had to be mad. You should look to the loony bin for suspects. That’s the place for devil worshipers.”

  “Somehow I don’t think we need worry about anyone locked up, the ones walking the street are harder to get a handle on. We got a lead today. Could be we’ll bring this to an end quite soon.”

  “And you think Jo Jellic will follow it up?”

  “Yes, I do. And I’ll be right there alongside her.” Right or wrong, it seemed Jo had something to prove, and not only to herself.

  Skelton’s wife never stopped working. She was gathering together the makings for pastry, piling it into a huge mixer. “Do you do all the cooking for the bar by yourself?”

  “Every last bit. I don’t trust nobody else to get it right.” She switched on the machine and little puffs of flour rose from its bowl. “This is for my steak pies. I have to make plenty, they’re my best sellers.”

  “Well, if they taste as good as they smell, I’ll be in to taste some for myself tomorrow.” He earned a smile for his compliment, and promised himself he would come in tomorrow and sample her baking. A few brownie points wouldn’t go wrong.

  The back of his neck prickled as if he were being watched, then the door behind him swung open and he heard Jo’s voice.

  Molly stopped smiling.

  “I’ll hold the door,” Jo was saying as he turned around, laughing with the woman carrying the tray. His chest tightened. She’d never laughed with him that way. So naturally.

  When had he ever encouraged her to? It had been safer to poker up when the jokes were flying, and keep his distance.

  Safer for his peace of mind.

  “What do you think this is? Central Station?” Molly slapped the cloth in her hand down on the bench and began rubbing hard enough to wipe six inches of splinters from the butcher’s block.

  One word from Molly and he had his reprieve. Jo raised an eyebrow. Flame flickered in the dark brown of her eyes. A cold flame, one that stripped the flesh off your bones. He was glad not to be on the receiving end. If Rowan had needed confirmation that there was no love lost between these two, he had it now.

  “Jo was just holding the door for me, I’m pretty loaded up.”

  Jo? If they were on a first-name basis the talk between her and Ginny’s mom must have gone well.

  “No problem, Betty. I don’t like to see anyone overworked.”

  Betty, the peacemaker, spoke up again, “Oh, Molly would never overwork me. She’s very good to me and Ginny. I like to earn my wages, though. That way no one can complain.”

  From the look Betty cast Jo, Rowan gathered she was implying Skelton was a different proposition. “I was telling Molly we’d gotten a lead and she’d probably be paid out soon,” he mentioned, hoping to put his weight behind Betty’s conciliatory remark.

  “Actually, Jo came to see me about Ginny. Wouldn’t you know it? She’s in bother again.”

  Molly just laughed. “She’s a hard case that girl. What’s she been up to this time? Not much, I bet. Some girlie nonsense. The child doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Ginny’s a favorite with Molly,” said Betty, stating the obvious. “Jo picked Ginny up for shoplifting this afternoon.”

  “And charged her, no doubt. As if the cops haven’t got better things to do than go around chasing kids.”

  “She’s been given a warning. That’s all. Her mother can see to her punishment. I’m sure Ginny is really a good kid. At least she didn’t lie about it when she was caught. I appreciate honesty. I’ve been thinking about what Ginny told me. Betty was saying the kid has a great imagination, Rowan. Maybe it’s not worth the trouble of going all that way, because of what Ginny thinks could be a satanic cult. The boys at school could have been teasing.”

  Betty rattled glasses as she filled the dishwasher, and the pastry dough slapped against the sides of the bowl, making it rock on its stand. Jo’s indecision hit a lull and sounded the louder for it. Molly stopped scraping up flour with the edge of the knife. “What did I tell you? She’s got no intention of finding out the truth. She’s no more use than Bull and Jake. They couldn’t find a suspect if he was under their noses.”

  The knife shuddered as it clipped the edge of the mixer, sending it spinning. The reflection from the fluorescent bounced off the blade, making fairy lights dance on the ceiling.

  Molly watched the knife as if mesmerized until Betty walked over and picked it up, saying, “I’ll put this in with the glasses.” The moment passed.

  He could see the quick rise and fall of Jo’s breasts and knew he wasn’t the only one breathing fast. Skelton’s wife balanced on the edge of her stress like a tinker-tot doll, not quite falling over. He just hoped they weren’t around when she did.

  “Don’t worry.” Jo’s tone was even as if she’d never had any doubt about the way Molly had eyed that knife. “If the truth’s out there, Molly, I’ll find it, no matter who’s doing the telling. And don’t be so hard on Bull and Jake. Only this afternoon they brought in a couple of bad guys who’d been growing dope. Not content with growing it out in the bush, these guys had set up lights and tinfoil, and were growing it indoors.”

  Through pinched lips, Molly said grudgingly, “’Bout time they did something to earn the money us taxpayers pay them. They lost a good man when Rocky retired.”

  Before anyone could comment that it was actually redundancy, the timer on the oven began to ping. Molly grabbed a tray from under the counter. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go fill up the pie warmer in the bar.”

  “I can do that for you,” said Betty.

  “No need. I’m sure these people haven’t any more questions. I expect they’ll be gone when I get back.”

  “Well, I’m one who can take a hint,” said Jo, as the door swung shut with Molly on the other side.

  Betty closed the dishwasher and spun the dial. “Molly’s not always like this. She just hasn’t been herself since her house was torched. She had it beautiful. Lived for that house, always planning what she would buy next. Got a pile of catalogues in the storeroom that she shopped through. No place in Nicks Landing for that sort of quality. Nothing but the best for Molly.” Sighing wistfully, she looked at Jo. “She never had any children. I guess the house and those collections were her compensation.”

  “Molly never struck me as the motherly type.”

  “Oh, she wanted kids all right. Molly told me how Rocky and her tried for years. She even went to specialists. None of them could find a thing wrong with her. It was just one of those mysteries that no one can explain.”

  The conversation between Jo and Betty was heading in a direction guaranteed to make Rowan uncomfortable. He’d never been married, never had a sister either, nothing to help stop him breaking out in a sweat as the talk turned to women’s troubles. He began edging toward the door, hoping Jo would follow him.

  Jo took
a couple of steps back in his direction, waving goodbye to Betty. A wry smile creased her lips as she lifted her face to his and spoke softly, cutting Betty out of the circle. “The biggest mystery is how Rocky hoped to father a child when he’d had himself snipped.”

  They hadn’t heard the door open, or counted on Molly standing behind them. “Are you two still here?”

  Rowan didn’t breathe till they got outside. “Do you think she heard?”

  “Heck, no. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

  Chapter 5

  J o scrubbed her hands till they glowed pink. If anyone had told her three years ago that she’d spend the best part of a morning looking at a dead bull calf’s innards, she’d have laughed in their face. If Rowan had suggested it last night, she’d have given him one of her I-don’t-think-so looks and dismissed the possibility.

  Compared to this morning’s outing, last night’s visit to Rocky’s Hard Luck Inn had been an adventure in Sin City. Wanna get down to basics? Visit a farm.

  Thank heavens she’d taken Harry’s advice when she first arrived in Nicks Landing and invested in a pair of rubber boots. She kept them in the trunk of her car for visiting farms and the like, but usually by the time she got home it was mud and manure needing to be hosed off, not blood.

  Taking a deep breath, Jo centered her equilibrium. A few swift strokes of the brush through her hair, a spray of her favorite perfume, the one her friend Maggie had sent her last Christmas, one squirt behind each ear and another inside the front of her bra and she felt almost normal. Ready to face anything—except maybe Rowan.

  A quick look at her watch told her she was already five minutes late for their appointment. The one she’d already set back by four hours.

  The sight of Harry sitting behind his desk was comforting somehow. Steady. Reliable. Unweird.

  She’d come across a lot of peculiar things during her stint in Auckland, but luckily, nothing as bad as this morning’s little entertainment.

  Harry brought up his head and gave her a grin. “Feeling better?”

  She looked at her hands. “Some carbolic would have come in handy. Lady MacBeth has got nothing on me. I don’t think my hands will ever be clean again.”

  “Didn’t you wear gloves?”

  “What difference does that make? It’s the thought that counts. And if Bull and Jake hadn’t stayed overnight in Gisborne with those cannabis growers, this job would have been right up their street. I don’t think I ever saw so much blood in all my life.”

  A puzzled expression drew some extra lines round Harry’s eyes. “Didn’t you work on that serial killer case up in Auckland?”

  “I did. But he was a very tidy fellow. Hated the sight of blood, unlike our friend at Rimu Downs farm.”

  “So, are you going to fill me in on it then, or do I have to wait until you put in a report?”

  Jo checked the clock on the wall behind Harry. She could spare maybe two minutes, that was all. It would take five to reach Lonely Track Road. Any more and Rowan would give up on her.

  She hitched one hip onto the corner of his desk and began. “Okay, I’ll give you the gist of it, then I have to run. The bull calf was worth ten thousand, minimum. It was part of a special breeding program they’ve got going up there. Its sire—” She paused a minute, thinking. “Do they call bulls sires?” Harry looked blank so she carried on. “Anyway, its father was worth about ten times that, and they’d had high hopes for the calf.”

  “You’d better tell McQuaid that.”

  “Why?” Had Harry come to the conclusion bugging her all morning? That maybe, just maybe, Rocky hadn’t been lying. How many calves get killed by ritual sacrifice?

  “Rimu Downs belongs to the Stanhopes. The guy running the farm is only a manager.”

  “And?” she prodded him.

  For a second he looked like a goldfish drowning on air, then he spat out the words. “It’s obvious. McQuaid works for them. Allied probably handled the insurance.”

  Logical, but something told her that hadn’t been Harry’s first choice of words. “I’ll tell him about it when I get to Rocky’s house. He’s meeting me there fifteen minutes ago, so the rest of the gory details will have to wait.”

  “Speak of the devil.”

  “Who, Rowan?” She swung around. The sergeant’s chair was positioned to give him a view of the comings and goings at the front counter through the open door. Rocky was there talking to Seth. “What does he want now?”

  Harry sighed loud enough for it to have come from way down in his boots. “Knowing him, it won’t be anything good.”

  That was what Jo liked about the Sergeant. He was the only other one in the station house who didn’t think daisies sprouted in Rocky’s footprints. Yeah, she really liked that about Harry. He was a man of extraordinary common sense.

  Seth stuck his head round the door. He looked from Harry to Jo. “Rocky wants to talk to Jo, I mean Detective Jellic.”

  “Let him through…”

  “Don’t tell him I’m here,” said Jo at the same time. It was no use. Seth knew which side his bread was buttered on, and obeyed Harry. “I don’t have time for this. I should have left earlier.”

  “If it’s of no importance, tell him you’ll get back to him.”

  “Have you ever known him to listen to anyone but himself?”

  Rocky appeared from the foyer. Harry spoke. “What’s important enough to drag you from the bar during the lunch trade?”

  “They’re back.” One bald statement as if she and Harry were mind readers. Maybe so. Icy drips trickled down her spine.

  “Why don’t you start by telling us who they are?” suggested the sergeant. He was nonchalance personified in contrast to a harried Rocky whose thinning hair stood on end as if he’d run his fingers through it. His gaze dodged a long strand of hair hanging over one eye and focused on checking her reactions. Only natural. He knew she thought him a liar. She’d told him to his face less than two months of arriving in Nicks Landing. Honesty had become her creed. She practiced it well and in no uncertain terms Jo had let him know, she thought he’d lied about her father. She’d followed Max, her old sergeant’s example. Jo used to chide him about it, say it was his there’s-a-new-Sheriff-in-town warning. It hadn’t worked with Rocky. He’d laughed it off. Of course that was before she knew he considered himself bulletproof. Who wouldn’t with half the local cops backing them?

  “The satanists, they’re back.”

  “What happened? They set fire to your bar this time, or just your shirttail to send you rushing over here in a tizz?” Harry’s drawl grew more pronounced, emphasizing his country roots. It always did when he spoke to Rocky. At a guess, it was part of a running battle. One that had gone on in the days when Rocky had been Detective Sergeant, city trained and a big wheel in Nicks County police. Harry hadn’t aimed any further than the town he’d been born in, hadn’t wanted to.

  “They’ve been back to my house. My neighbor, Jenny Gilbransen, came in this morning. Not for a drink, she doesn’t drink, and anyway the bar wasn’t open.” He paused for breath, giving the impression he’d run all the way, which would be a first.

  “She said she heard a car outside my place in the middle of the night. Said it was there awhile before it took off.”

  It was time Jo got involved, so she asked, “Did she get up and take a look? Did she see anything?” See you, maybe? First the calf, now this. Coincidence or what?

  “No. She’s on her own in that big old house next to mine. I bought my land off her. Jenny said she just pulled the covers over her head and waited till she heard them pull away.”

  “She didn’t think to call you?”

  “No. She got up when they left, had a look to see if my house was on fire, and when it wasn’t she made herself a cup of tea and went back to bed.”

  “So why the panic if your house is okay?” Or as okay as it’s ever going to be till they pull it down? Something was going down. Something distinctly fishy. If Rocky Skelton
was cool enough to get himself out of a burning building with his skin still intact, or practically intact, why fall to pieces over a house that was hardly more than a burned-out shell?

  “I went up there. I thought I’d find you and McQuaid, but there was no one around. Someone had been there all right. They’d scattered newspaper all over the floor.”

  Jo let a raised eyebrow speak for her. A yawn would have done it better, but she could control herself. She hoped the punch line was better than the rest of his story.

  “The papers were covered in blood.”

  Harry looked in her direction. She could tell they were on the same wavelength but he was leaving the questions to her. Both of them throwing a two into the pot, hoping to come up with five.

  She stared pointedly at Rocky. “But there was no body?”

  “I didn’t see one. Just an old newspaper with my picture on the front. It was smeared with blood and someone had drawn an inverted pentagram around the picture.” His Adam’s apple quivered among the lines on his neck. “Like it was a target.”

  None of his drama touched her. If it had been someone else she might have felt for them, but her sympathy button had been preconditioned, and Rocky just couldn’t push it. “Two questions. How long ago was this? And what did you do with the paper?”

  “Twenty minutes ago. I started to pick it up then dropped it back on the floor and got the hell out of there.”

  Rocky, Molly’s parfait gentle knight, what a joke. She’d once gone into the kitchen of the Hard Luck Inn and caught Molly watching The Bold And The Beautiful on TV. Though Jo had scoffed to herself, she understood Molly’s need for distraction, being married to a man who was anything but bold or beautiful.

  It suddenly dawned on Jo that twenty minutes ago, she should have met up with Rowan. “You didn’t see McQuaid at the house?”