“And one year later we have a hot lead,” said Eddie. “This could make Juergen’s day. I’ll dig up background on the guys Gamble named as his associates.” Eddie looked at a piece of paper Mercy had shoved across the table. “Ellis Mull, Nathan May, and Trevor Whipple.”
“What’s the name of the fifth person?” asked Darby.
“No one knows the full name of the getaway driver,” said Melissa. “I remember angry wives and girlfriends would turn in their significant other to get the men investigated and humiliated. What a waste of investigator time.”
“Melissa is right,” said Mercy. “From what I’ve read, no one knows who the fifth person is. Shane Gamble claimed Trevor Whipple brought the fifth man into the plan at the last minute to drive the car, and called him Jerry. Gamble didn’t know anything else about him.”
“Hopefully that’s not Jerry up in the cabin,” said Eddie. “I think we can determine if it’s Mull, May, or Whipple, but figuring out if it was the unknown driver will be a challenge.”
“The body could be a random hunter,” Darby pointed out. “Let’s get that final confirmation on the bank bags before we jump to conclusions.”
Mercy met Eddie’s gaze. Her gut told her the dead body was part of the Gamble-Helmet Heist, and based on the smug smile on Eddie’s face, he suspected it too.
Not again.
This was the fourth car in two weeks.
Sandy Foster tuned out the words of the furious man with her behind the Eagle’s Nest bed-and-breakfast. She didn’t blame him as they stared at the glass on the pavement. She’d be pissed too if someone had broken her car window. From the way he spoke, he seemed to believe that the two-year-old Honda was a rare, valuable car.
It was a nice car, but she saw a dozen of them every day.
“I’ll get the police over here,” she promised her customer. “And I know the owner of the auto glass repair shop in Bend. He’ll have someone here this afternoon.” I hope.
Her relationship with the auto glass shop owner had formed out of necessity, and she wondered if he had a “break ten, get one free” program. Her lips twisted at the thought.
“This isn’t funny,” the customer snapped.
“I’m not laughing,” she assured him. “Believe me, this makes me furious. I want a safe place for my visitors to park. Incidents like this don’t make anyone feel safe.”
“At least nothing was stolen,” he muttered. He crossed his arms, and his mouth sagged in a frown.
“Let me buy you dinner at the town diner tonight,” Sandy offered. Her breakfast buffet was included in the price of a room; otherwise she would have offered that. Instead the cost of his and his wife’s dinner would come directly out of her cash.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he admitted.
It was the nicest thing he’d said in the last five minutes. “I want to do something to make it up to you. Were you driving anywhere this afternoon?”
He sighed. “Just to dinner in Bend a bit later.”
“I bet it will be repaired by then,” she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful.
“I hope so. We’ve been looking forward to trying the seafood place in the Old Mill District.” He gave her a sideways look.
Shit. “They have fantastic food. I’ll pick up the dinner tab for you.”
He brightened. “That’d be great. I’ll go tell my wife.” He took off toward the back door of her bed-and-breakfast.
Sandy sighed and closed her eyes for a long moment. The seafood restaurant would cost five times as much as a meal at the diner. If her customer decided to push the boundaries and order lobster and multiple bottles of wine, it could be much more.
I wouldn’t put it past him.
She slid her phone out of her back pocket to call the Eagle’s Nest Police Department and her auto glass contact. Regret jabbed her in the chest. She adored her bed-and-breakfast. It was the result of years of backbreaking labor. She wanted the best experience for her customers and paid attention to every detail. Fine linens on the beds, updated huge bathrooms, spotlessly clean floors, and a breakfast buffet that made clients rave. She never took a day off; the old restored home was the pride of her heart.
I love what I do, but if this damage keeps up, I’ll be broke.
Then what?
“This is happening too often,” Truman said as he wrote in his notebook. As soon as the department had received a call from Sandy, he knew what she would report.
More vandalism to customer vehicles at her bed-and-breakfast.
Beside him Sandy ran a hand through her long red hair in frustration. “Tell me about it. This isn’t good for business. I can read the future online reviews now: ‘Great place, amazing food, but expect to get your tires slashed or car windows broken.’”
“People wouldn’t write that in a review,” said Truman. “This has nothing to do with the quality of your business.”
“You’d be surprised what people will complain about. I’ve received a one-star review because I don’t provide shuttle service from Portland—give me a break! It’s over three hours away. In another one-star, a woman complained because her husband lost his coat while skiing! It didn’t even happen at my place.”
“A rational person reading that review will see how ridiculous that is.”
“Some people only look at the number of stars.” Sandy glared at the broken window.
“How about installing cameras? You could find some inexpensive ones these days.”
“How about you catch who is doing this?” Sandy suggested with a quirk of an eyebrow. The tall B&B owner was a force to be reckoned with. The fortysomething woman took no crap from anyone, but she was a natural in the hospitality field. She’d moved to town a decade before him, and he’d heard she’d been married at some point, but her passion was running her business. Truman still appreciated the time she’d backed him up in a domestic dispute with her rolling pin. He’d had no doubt she would use it if needed.
“I’ll do my best. You know we don’t have the manpower or budget to run patrols at night. An officer on call is the best I can do.”
“I know.” Sandy lowered her gaze. “It’s tight everywhere. That’s why I need this damage stopped. I haven’t had a profit since Christmas, and I can’t afford to lose a single customer. Any more of this and I’ll be frying eggs and hash browns at the restaurant down the street.”
“You’re too important to this town for that . . . although you’d improve the diner’s breakfast tenfold.” Truman felt bad for the hardworking woman. “Your B&B brings in customers for other local businesses. We’re all dependent on each other. I’ll ask around and see if someone has some cameras they’d loan for a while,” he lied. “I’ll help set them up.”
After I order them from Amazon.
“I hope they don’t move the vandalism to the house,” Sandy said, looking up at the stately Queen Anne home. “I put a lot of work into restoring it, and my insurance deductible is huge.”
“You said no one has heard the glass breaking or seen people near the cars?”
“I asked all the guests. I can’t even tell you when this one happened. The owner didn’t come out to his car until lunchtime. It could have happened anytime in the last twenty-four hours.”
“I suspect nighttime.”
“I agree.” Her dark brows came together, and she frowned at the broken window of the Honda sedan.
“What is it?” Truman asked. The look on her face was thoughtful.
She shook her head and smiled at him. “It’s nothing. I’m trying to imagine what kind of person from around here does this. Teenagers, I expect?”
“That’s a solid guess. I’ll file a report—another report—and find some cameras for you. Until then, warn your guests not to leave things in their car.” He paused. “Nothing was stolen this time either, right?”
“Right. Someone simply enjoys causing damage.”
Truman slipped his notebook in his pocket. “Be careful, Sandy.”
“Don’t worry. I’m always on my toes,” she said grimly. “Later, Chief.”
THREE
Truman inhaled deeply as he stepped inside the Eagle’s Nest station.
Lucas’s mom has been here.
The smell of her pulled pork nearly made him weep with hunger. He hung up his cowboy hat and turned to see his office manager, Lucas, and his mom walking out of the small room used for meetings. She had a grocery bag in one hand, but Truman could tell it was empty. She must have just dropped off dinner.
And for once I’m here before the other guys.
Too many times he’d been out on a call when Bree Ingram dropped off food, and he’d come back to find a tiny plate of cold leftovers that survived only because Lucas had saved it for him. Bree’s pulled pork was Truman’s favorite, but he also liked her pasta salad, fried chicken, and berry pie.
“Evening, Chief,” Bree said with a smile. “I made a little extra pork, so I brought it by. Goes to waste in my house.” Bree Ingram had Lucas’s big smile, but that was the only physical attribute the widow shared with her son. She was tiny, especially when she stood next to linebacker-size Lucas. With her dark coloring and peppy attitude, she reminded him of a happy lab puppy.
Lucas was a Saint Bernard, a gentle giant.
“Thanks, Bree. We always appreciate your extra food.” Truman swallowed back a curse as all three of his officers emerged from the small room with paper plates loaded with pulled pork and fresh rolls. So much for being first. He glared at Samuel. The officer wasn’t even working today. No doubt one of the other officers had given him a heads-up. Samuel was a bachelor, unlike his other two officers, and was always happy to eat food someone else had made.
The three officers greeted Truman with their mouths full.