The Masked Man Part 4

But from the first day, Zoe had seemed fascinated by the workings of the bakery, so Jill had weakened and given her the job.

Zoe had proved to be a good worker, prompt and dependable. And Jill had felt guilty for judging the girl by her appearance.

Also of late, Zoe had fallen in love. Which wasn't rare. But this one had lasted for more than a week. Which was. was.

"Breads. That would be great," Jill said. "If you want to get started, I'll be right down."

"Rough night?" Zoe asked, eyeing her.

Had she heard about Trevor's murder? Jill knew from her glance in the mirror that she looked bad.

"Just a late night," she said. "That stupid costume I was wearing." She raised her hand to the knot on her head. It was tender. So was the spot beneath her left eye. "I kept running into things." So true.

Zoe nodded knowingly. "One of those hoop-skirt things, right? Man, can you imagine dressing like that all the time? Too weird. And in your case, too dangerous!"

Jill laughed. Yes, Zoe was exactly what she needed.

"I'll get some coffee going first," Zoe said. "You look like you could use a cup."

"Thanks, I really could." She was grateful that she wouldn't have to discuss last night-or Trevor. If Zoe knew about Trevor's murder she'd be asking a dozen questions. "I'll be down in just a few minutes to get going on the cinnamon buns."

"Cool," Zoe said, and headed for the bakery's kitchen. Beyond it, Jill could see the dark shapes of the tables and chairs of the small coffee shop. And beyond that the dark street. What caught her eye was a car parked across the intersection. A s.h.i.+ny black sports car. Was there someone sitting in it behind the tinted windows? Someone watching the bakery?

"Jill? Are you sure you're all right?"

She blinked and focused on Zoe, who'd turned to look back at her in concern.

Jill nodded. "Just tired." She hurried back upstairs to her apartment, ran a brush through her long brown hair and plaited it into one long braid down her back. After she brushed her teeth, she put on makeup, something she seldom wore, to cover the worst of the sc.r.a.pes and bruises. Not great, but definitely better.

She tidied the apartment a little and returned to the kitchen to find Zoe hard at work getting the bread doughs started.

"How was your your night?" she asked the girl, who was sifting flour into a large metal bowl. It was the way they started their days. With Zoe's stories about her dates, her parents, her friends and the latest love of her life, a guy known only as Spider. "Did you see Spider?" night?" she asked the girl, who was sifting flour into a large metal bowl. It was the way they started their days. With Zoe's stories about her dates, her parents, her friends and the latest love of her life, a guy known only as Spider. "Did you see Spider?"

"Finally." Zoe measured flour into the large floor mixer and sighed. "He promised to take me to a party, but he didn't show up in time."

Jill knew the feeling. "I'm sorry."

"He came around later, said he'd been working."

Working. Jill had heard that one before, too.

"But we went out on the beach, parked and talked." Zoe shrugged shyly. "He's the coolest guy I know. Older, you know. And he likes me." She grinned. "A lot. But I'm taking it slow. You know, kinda playing hard to get."

"Good idea," Jill agreed, curious about this Spider. Older. That was the first time Zoe had revealed that. "How much older?"

Zoe shrugged. "He drives a great car."

"Really?" Jill glanced out the front window thinking it might be a black sports car. But the car was gone.

"It doesn't happen to be black, something sleek and sporty, does it?" Jill asked.

Zoe laughed. "Not likely. It's old. You know, one of those cars from, like, the sixties that's been made cool again."

"Cool." Jill felt relieved Spider's cool car wasn't a black sports car. She knew she was just being paranoid, but then, she had a right to be, all things considered. She lost herself in making the cinnamon-roll dough.

It was hard not to worry about Zoe. The girl was too trusting, especially in light of the disappearances there'd been in the area over the years. Most were girls about Zoe's age who'd come to the lake for summer jobs. As far as Jill knew, none of them had ever been found.

Jill felt sick remembering the year she was sixteen and the close call she'd had. It had been the only time she'd hitchhiked. Her first and last time.

Carefully, she dumped the flour and yeast into the large mixer and turned it on low as she added the warm water. Work was exactly what she needed. Work that she'd loved since those early days in her grandmother's kitchen. Jill had always turned to work to help her get through the rough times, like four years ago when her mother died, or like the past few weeks when she'd known something was wrong between her and Trevor. This morning was no different.

What annoyed her was how naive she'd been. Why hadn't she suspected it was another woman? It seemed so obvious in retrospect. Was it possible there'd been more than one?

She a.s.sumed the other Scarlett and Rachel were the same woman. Unless Trevor had three women he was taking for fools. That That could definitely get a man killed. could definitely get a man killed.

What amazed her was that whoever the other Scarlett had been, it appeared she'd planned to take Jill's place at the party-after Trevor broke his engagement. The sheer nerve of the woman! And the cowardice of Trevor! The only reason he'd have broken their engagement at the party was that Jill wouldn't have made a scene with other people around. What a jerk he'd been.

Jill tried to concentrate on the baking, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about last night and the man she'd made love with.

Each breath she took seemed to remind her of his kisses, each movement reminded her of his body, each sound reminded her of his soft groans as his hands and mouth explored her.

She felt herself blus.h.i.+ng, followed by a drowning wave of guilt. Her fiance had just been murdered. What was wrong with her? But her feelings toward Trevor had never been as strong as those she'd had toward a total stranger last night in the cottage. And to think that she'd "saved herself" for Trevor!

Why had had Trevor asked her to marry him? And why had she accepted? They'd hardly spoken throughout high school. Even after college when she'd first opened the bakery, she seldom saw him. They ran in different social circles. Trevor asked her to marry him? And why had she accepted? They'd hardly spoken throughout high school. Even after college when she'd first opened the bakery, she seldom saw him. They ran in different social circles.

Then one day out of the blue, he'd asked her to a party at his parents' house. She'd been flattered. And over the next couple of weeks, he'd romanced her, pulling out all the stops with flowers, dinners at fancy restaurants, cards, phone calls and gifts, like the charm bracelet.

It had been the first gift he'd given her. But looking back, Jill had never felt as if his heart was in it. Even the one time they'd made love...

All the signs had been there. She'd ignored them. Because she'd wanted to.

But no matter her feelings for Trevor, her heart went out to his parents. Heddy and Alistair must be devastated. Their only child. Their precious son.

Had they even an inkling that Trevor was planning to run off last night? One-way tickets to Brazil didn't make it look as if Trevor and his new wife had any plans of coming back. Heddy must be crushed.

It just didn't make any sense, though. Trevor had had such plans for the island development. In fact, she remembered that when Alistair had the chance to buy the island, Trevor had practically begged his father to give it to him.

"Someone else will develop it otherwise," Trevor had said. He'd been in a frenzy the day Alistair was to sign the papers, afraid something might go wrong and the island might end up in someone else's hands.

What had happened out on the island the past two months? She'd heard rumors that there had been problems. Setbacks, delays, accidents on the island, which of course only added to the stories of the island's being cursed, haunted. When she'd asked Trevor, he'd said someone had been sabotaging some of the equipment. Kids.

She shook her head, shocked that the deputies thought she might have had something to do with Trevor's death. With a start, she reminded herself that she needed an alibi, as crazy as that was. If either her mystery lover or the other Scarlett didn't come forward soon, she'd have to find them.

Trevor's girlfriend might be easier to locate, Jill realized. At least, Jill thought she'd be able to recognize the woman's voice if she ever heard it again.

Recognizing the mystery lover was a whole different story. She wouldn't know him with his clothes on! Not even naked unless it was by touch. Her memory of him was all tactile, sensual, physical. He'd smelled like the storm. No aftershave or cologne. His body had resembled Trevor's enough to fool her. Only more muscular, more solid.

She fanned herself at the memory and suddenly had a horrible thought. Why had the man been dressed as Rhett Butler? Had he known what Trevor would be wearing last night? Had he purposely tried to take Trevor's place? Or- The large empty bun pan slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. Oh, my G.o.d. Was it possible she'd made love with the killer?

Chapter Four.

Nathaniel Pierce smiled as he opened his front door to Mac just before nine the next morning.

"Mac," Pierce said cheerfully, and motioned him inside the ma.s.sive ranch house, which was set back in the pines on the mountainside overlooking the lake. The interior decor was a combination of antlers and leather, rock and wood, antiques and Americana.

Pierce led the way through the huge living room, past a wall-size black-and-white photograph of a pasture running as far as the eye could see. In the foreground stood a ma.s.sive herd of buffalo.

"Buffalo-it's the new beef," Pierce said when he saw Mac looking at the mural. "That was taken on part of my ranch," he said proudly. "Come out to the sunroom."

Mac followed him through the house to the screened-in room. Snowcapped peaks poked up from the horizon. In between was the blue-green of the lake. Mac took a look through the high-powered telescope aimed at the north end of the lake. He wasn't surprised to see that it was sited on the marina where his houseboat was docked.

He swung the telescope slowly southward, down the wooded lakefront. The view of the Foresters' home on the water, including the cottage, was d.a.m.ned good. A little farther south, Inspiration Island. Even the bay where Trevor Forester's boat and body had been found could be seen from here through the high-powered lens.

Was it possible Pierce had witnessed the murder?

"So what do you think?" Pierce asked.

Mac wasn't sure if they were talking about the ranch or the view, the burglary or the videotape, or the telescope and what could be seen through it from here.

"Amazing," Mac said, pretty much covering it all as he stepped away from the telescope to stand at the window.

Pierce smiled. "Quite the view, huh?"

The view was incredible. From here, the lake gleamed like a crystal ball. Mac stared at the water, afraid he could see the future in all the blue. "That was an interesting videotape you gave me. I'm surprised the sheriff hasn't already nailed the men responsible."

Pierce laughed. "You know I didn't call the authorities. Juice or coffee?"

Yes, Mac knew. He turned to find Pierce standing next to a table, holding a pottery pitcher in his hand, waiting expectantly.

"I had this juice flown in from Hawaii," he said. "There's nothing like fresh pineapple juice, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's amazing what money can buy," Mac said. "Or there's always blackmail. And what can't be bought or blackmailed can always be stolen, right?"

Pierce smiled. "You have such a wonderful grasp of life's finer points."

"It must be annoying, though, to have your already stolen property be stolen," Mac said. "In fact, it must really p.i.s.s you off. I'll bet that's why you don't seem at all broken up over Trevor Forester's death."

"Trevor was a...thief."

Among other things, Mac thought. "Isn't calling him a thief a little like the pot calling the kettle black?"

"There's a difference between someone who steals for money or revenge and someone who appropriates because they appreciate the value of what they're stealing."

"Right. So which was it?"

"I beg your pardon?" Pierce said.

"Was it money or revenge that Trevor Forester stole for?"

"Who knows and why does it matter?" Pierce filled both gla.s.ses on the table with juice. "You must try this."

"It matters," Mac said taking the gla.s.s Pierce offered him, "especially if you killed him."

His former cla.s.smate feigned shock. "You think I could kill someone?"

"No," Mac said, glancing at the telescope. "But you would hire someone to."

Pierce smiled. "I'm trying to hire you you and I know you don't kill people-except in the line of duty. Now why would I bother to hire you if I'd already taken care of the problem?" He shook his head. "I just want my property back. If the men were all to die before I got it, now, that would be unfortunate." He waved a manicured hand through the air. "What do you think of the juice?" and I know you don't kill people-except in the line of duty. Now why would I bother to hire you if I'd already taken care of the problem?" He shook his head. "I just want my property back. If the men were all to die before I got it, now, that would be unfortunate." He waved a manicured hand through the air. "What do you think of the juice?"

Mac downed the pineapple juice and licked his lips. "Delicious. What was in the metal box?"

Pierce took a small sip of his own juice, obviously not wanting to be rushed. Either that, or he was hesitant to tell him. But then, Pierce had little choice if he hoped to get the contents back. "Some rather rare coins."

"How rare?"

Pierce lifted a brow. "Rare enough that I'm going to the trouble of hiring you to get them back."

Mac c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "That rare."

"They're priceless, all right? They're a set of Double Eagle twenty-dollar gold pieces. There is a Liberty figure on the front and an eagle on the back. Since I know you don't collect coins, why be more specific than that?"

Mac didn't know anything about rare coins, but he had seen an article in the paper the previous year about the world's rarest coin. A 1933 Double Eagle that fetched $7.59 million at auction. Back in 1933 President Roosevelt had decided to take the nation off the gold standard, so he'd ordered that all the newly minted twenty-dollar gold pieces be melted down. Someone had illegally smuggled the coin out, and it had ended up in the collection of Egypt's King Farouk. The coin disappeared again and finally turned up when a British coin dealer had tried to sell it to an undercover secret service agent.

Mac wondered what the history of Pierce's coin set was and was glad he didn't know. "How do you know the thieves haven't already fenced the coins?"

Pierce shook his head. "The burglary was two months ago. The coins would have turned up by now."

"Two months ago?" Mac couldn't have been more shocked. "And you're just now getting around to hiring me?"

"I'd hoped Trevor would try to sell the coins," Pierce said. "I have a few...contacts. The coins are worth much more as a set. I would have heard about it. The coins were the only thing Trevor took, so he knew what he was getting. He wouldn't have split up the set. You do realize that Trevor's the one who's been burglarizing all the houses in the area, don't you?"

"What makes you think that?" Mac had to ask.

Pierce gave him a pitying look. "It stands to reason. Trevor knew all the people who were robbed because he attended the same parties they did, he could never have enough money, and he thought he was above the law."

"You just described yourself," Mac noted.

Pierce laughed. "Yes, well, my grandfather and Trevor's were...acquaintances, but my grandfather had more money."

"I've always wondered," Mac said, "why your father sold the island to the Foresters."

"To make a profit," Pierce snapped, and turned his back to pour himself more juice.