I wanted to reach out and somehow push the words away but I couldn’t. Because that was why I was there.
“I want to know if you think he could have.”
Oren studied his own hands for a moment. “I want to say no,” he said. “But the truth is, I don’t know.”
I nodded, hoping he’d keep talking.
“The thing is, Kathleen, that piece of land out there. It doesn’t belong to the Kenyons anymore. It hasn’t for a long time, but Ira can’t seem to get his mind around that. He’s managed to find more than one lawyer who takes his money and starts a lawsuit that isn’t going to amount to anything. I don’t think Ira would have hurt Detective Gordon’s friend on purpose . . .”
He left the end of the sentence hanging.
“Do you know where he might have gone?” I asked.
“You mean he’s not out there anymore?”
I shook my head. When I’d driven out to Long Lake before work, I’d checked out every dirt road in the area where Roma had said the squatter’s truck had been parked. There had been no sign of him.
Oren sighed. “He could be anywhere. The last time Ira disappeared he turned up in Clearwater Beach in Florida but for weeks no one knew where he was. I go out to check on him every couple of weeks and he was talking about Clearwater the last time I saw him. That’s all I know.”
I hadn’t touched my coffee and now took one long drink and then set the cup back on the counter. “I better get going,” I said. “Thank you for talking to me.”
Oren got to his feet. “If I hear anything about Ira, I promise I’ll call you.”
“Thank you,” I said. I walked back to the truck thinking that I was no closer to answers in Dani’s death and I really had no idea what to do next.
Marcus was already at our favorite table in the front window when I got to Eric’s Place. We gave Nic our order—spaghetti and meatballs—and after he’d headed back to the kitchen Marcus smiled across the table at me. “How was your day?” he asked.
“All right,” I said. “Owen climbed in the laundry basket and got cat hair all over the towels again. At least this time it wasn’t the clean ones. And we started decorating for Spookarama. I think Eddie is going to be Frankenstein.”
He laughed. “I’m looking forward to seeing that.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit there and make small talk while we both pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t. “Do you trust me?” I said.
His blue eyes widened. “Where did that come from?”
If I’d had even the tiniest bit of doubt that Hope was right that Marcus was keeping something from us it disappeared like a balloon popping.
“That question only has two answers,” I said, struggling to keep the maelstrom of emotions I was feeling from sneaking into my voice. “Yes or no.”
“Why would you think I don’t trust you?”
I didn’t say anything. I just continued to look at him. Finally, he sighed softly. “Of course I trust you, Kathleen,” he said in a low voice.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like there was a steel band playing in my chest. “Then tell me what it is you’ve been holding back. I know it has to do with Dani.”
To his credit he didn’t pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about. He reached across the table for my hand. “I can’t. Not because I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust you with my life. But I gave my word and it’s not my secret to tell.”
“Whatever this secret is could get you arrested,” I said, this time not even trying to keep the emotion from my voice.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Dani’s death. And I don’t know if it will make any difference to you, but this . . . information goes way back to before you and I got together. If it was now, I would say no to anything I had to keep from you.” He had that look on his face that told me it wasn’t going to be easy to change his mind.
“How do you know it doesn’t have anything to do with Dani’s death?”
The muscles along his jaw tightened. “I gave my word, Kathleen,” he said again. “If I don’t honor my commitments or keep my promises, what kind of a man am I?”
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. The words of Shakespeare’s sonnet came unbidden into my mind. In this case nothing about Marcus had changed, I realized. He’d always been a man of principles, a man of his word. He hadn’t changed and how I felt about him wasn’t changing, either.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“Really?” he asked.
“I think this is a bad idea, but for now I’m not going to push.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Dani getting killed. I swear,” Marcus said, giving my hand a squeeze before letting it go.
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door to the café open. I didn’t recognize the man who walked in but I knew he was a police officer. It was clear in the way he stood, in the way he surveyed the room before walking over to us.
“Marcus,” I said softly.
He turned and his face hardened.
The man stopped at our table. “Hello, Marcus,” he said.
Marcus gave him a tight smile. “Bryan,” he said with a nod.
This had to be the detective from Red Wing, Bryan Foster. He was about average height, a couple of inches shorter than Marcus. He had smooth brown skin and dark hair clipped close to his head.
“We need to talk,” the detective said. “I need you to come to the station.”
Marcus shifted in his seat, propping one arm on the back of the chair. “Sure,” he said. “We just ordered. I can be there in”—he looked down at his watch—“about an hour.”
The other detective shook his head. “I’m afraid it can’t wait that long.”
“Like I said, I can be there in about an hour.” Marcus raised his voice slightly. I’d seen the challenge in his blue eyes before.
“I don’t want to make this embarrassing for either one of us,” Detective Foster said, keeping his voice low. “Don’t put me in that position.”
Marcus pushed back his chair and stood up. I could feel the anger coming off him.
At the other end of the room Eric came around the counter.
“C’mon, man,” Foster said softly. “Just come with me.” His eyes flicked in my direction for a moment. Behind us the door to the café opened again and I caught a glimpse of a white-haired man.
“I’m sorry about dinner, Kathleen,” Marcus said. His eyes never left the other man’s face.
“It’s all right,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. “Go.”
“My client isn’t going anywhere,” a voice said. It belonged to the white-haired man who had just walked in. The color drained from Marcus’s face. “Don’t say a word,” the man told him.
“And who might you be?” Detective Foster asked.
The smile he got was a mix of arrogance and condescension. “Elliot Gordon, attorney at law. What do you want with my son?”
8
“Kathleen, meet my father,” Marcus said.
“Is my son under arrest?” Elliot Gordon asked the detective as though Marcus hadn’t spoken. He either didn’t see or ignored the hand I held out.
“I just need to ask him a few questions,” Foster said. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, feet apart, and though he was a bit shorter in stature than Marcus and his father, his solid frame seemed to command more of the space.
“I’m fine,” Marcus said. His face gave nothing away but one of his hands was clenched tightly into a fist. “This is just routine.”
Elliot Gordon continued to keep his eyes fixed on the Red Wing detective, who met his gaze with what seemed to me to be just a touch of amusement. This staring thing seemed to be a Gordon family trait. “Doesn’t matter. You still need a lawyer.”