The Masked Man Part 6

"I'm so sorry about Trevor," she said. "I was going to call you this morning, once it was a decent time. You must be in shock."

"Yes," he agreed. "The sheriff was here all night. It's beyond comprehension. How are you, dear?"

"Just sick. Who would want to hurt Trevor?"

"I wish I knew," Alistair said, then fell silent for a moment. "Could you come out here later? I really need to talk to you."

"Of course." They agreed on two o'clock. She wondered what he wanted to talk to her about. No doubt her relations.h.i.+p with his son. "How is Heddy?"

"Not good." He hung up, unable to say much more.

Zoe was icing a huge tray of cinnamon rolls when Jill came out of the office. "Was that about me?" she asked, looking worried.

Her question took Jill by surprise. "Why would it be about you?"

Zoe shook her head. "You know me, always in trouble of some sort." She sounded almost scared.

"Not this time," Jill a.s.sured her as the back door banged open as it did every morning at this time and Jill turned to see her father. Since Jill's mother had pa.s.sed away four years ago, Gary Lawson stopped by in the morning for a warm cinnamon roll, a cup of coffee and a chat.

Jill loved the early-morning chats with her father, but this morning when she saw his face, she knew he'd heard about Trevor's murder. Her father had wanted Jill to have the kind of marriage he'd had with her mother, and for a while, it had looked as though Trevor Forester would give her everything she could ever want.

"Hi, honey," her dad said.

Just looking at him, she felt the tears she'd fought so hard fill her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Jill," her dad said, pulling her into his arms. "You must be devastated. I cannot believe it myself. Who would want to murder Trevor?"

They both turned at the shriek and crash behind them. Zoe stood with a rubber spatula in her hand, icing dripping from it onto the floor, an almost empty pan of cinnamon rolls on the floor where it had fallen.

Zoe's black-rimmed eyes were round as plates, and she looked even paler than usual. "Someone murdered Trevor?" she asked in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Oh, G.o.d. I'm going to be sick." She dropped the spatula on the counter and ran out the back door.

Jill stared after her, surprised by her reaction. Zoe and Trevor had never been close. In fact, Trevor thought Jill irresponsible and stupid for hiring the girl and hadn't hidden his att.i.tude from Zoe. The two had never said more than two words to each other.

"Is she all right?" Gary Lawson asked.

"I'd better go see if she-" Jill stopped at the sound of Zoe's VW Beetle roaring away. "Oh, no! She was supposed to make deliveries this morning."

"Don't worry, I'll make them for you," her father said. "Why don't you plan on closing early today?"

She hugged her dad. "You are the greatest. Are you sure you feel up to this?"

"No problem."

MAC STARED at Pierce. "I didn't just hear you threaten my nephew, did I?"

"No, I was just saying... Look, I came to you so you could protect Shane," Pierce said quickly. "I'm willing to bet that one of the thieves killed Trevor for the coins. If Shane has them-" he held up his hands "-the same thing could happen to him. As far as Shane stealing from me goes, I have no hard feelings against him."

"That's right, you just want the coins," Mac said. "Retribution would be the last thing on your mind."

"Not my style."

Right. Mac recalled a time in college when Pierce had beaten another student within an inch of his life-over some girl.

Mac turned to leave, a curse on his lips. Why did his nephew have to steal from Nathaniel Pierce, of all people? And how had Shane gotten involved in the first place? It made no sense. Shane lived in Whitefish with his mother. What the h.e.l.l had he been doing down here? And how stupid was that, getting caught on videotape?

"I'll let you know when I find your coins," Mac said as he left. It was all he could do if he hoped to save Shane. But if his nephew had anything to do with Trevor Forester's death, nothing could save him. If Trevor had graduated from burglary to murder, he was on his own.

Mac didn't look back as he walked to his pickup. It was a newer Chevy with a camper, his home when a case took him away from the houseboat.

As he pulled onto the road, he wondered where to start looking for Shane. Maybe Shane had taken off after the heist with his share of the loot. But Mac had a feeling the boy hadn't.

He took out his cell phone and speed-dialed his sister's number in Whitefish.

She answered on the first ring. "Shane?"

"No, Carrie, it's Mac." He groaned silently at the worry he heard in his older sister's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I was just hoping it was Shane," she said, sounding close to tears.

"You haven't heard from him?"

"Not for over two months," she said. "He was talking about taking a trip with some friends, so maybe he just-"

"Some friends?" Mac interrupted. "What friends?"

"I'm not sure. I called Oz and Bongo and Skidder, those are the guys he usually hangs out with. No one has seen him, but Oz's girlfriend, Mountain Woman, said she saw him with some guy called Buffalo Boy."

Didn't any of Shane's friends have real names? "She have any idea what Buffalo Boy's real name is?"

"No one's ever heard him called anything but Buffalo Boy." She was crying now. "I'm worried sick about Shane. I just have this awful feeling." Awful feelings ran in the family.

Carrie had probably done as well as she could raising Shane alone after her husband drowned in Flathead Lake a dozen years ago when Shane was seven. So far most of Shane's sc.r.a.pes with the law had been relatively minor: shoplifting, vandalism, driving under the influence and disorderly conduct.

Now, at nineteen, it seemed Shane had graduated to a higher level of criminal.

"I'll see what I can find out," Mac told his sister, keeping what he knew to himself for now.

"You're the best, little brother."

Yeah. He made a few calls on the way back to the marina, talked to some of Shane's former friends, guys his nephew had dumped when he'd moved on to less-desirable types.

A guy nicknamed Raker told Mac that all he knew about Buffalo Boy was that he'd worked on a big ranch that raised buffalo. "Never said what ranch," Raker said, anxious to get back to flipping his burgers. "But Buffalo Boy and Shane were talking about going down there and maybe working for the summer."

Mac had a pretty good idea whose ranch it was. He called Pierce and asked if Shane had been on the payroll and wasn't surprised that his old friend didn't have a clue.

"I have people who run the ranch," Pierce said.

"Ask those people and get back to me."

"I can't see that it matters-"

"It matters." Mac hung up, wondering how much.

As he drove through Bigfork, he noticed the sign on a two-story brick building: The Best Buns In Town.

It was foolish. Dangerous. His worst plan yet. But he had to see the woman he'd made love with in the cottage last night. Trevor Forester's former fiancee.

Mac knew he was taking a h.e.l.l of a chance. He told himself it was nothing more than curiosity. The truth was, she'd been haunting his thoughts ever since last night and that d.a.m.ned first kiss. Too much was at stake to have any woman on his mind-especially this one.

The bakery was busy, all but one table occupied as he pushed open the door. A little bell tinkled over his head, and he was immediately a.s.saulted by the warm sweet b.u.t.tery scent of cinnamon rolls-and the knock-him-to-his-knees sight of Jill Lawson.

Chapter Five.

Jill looked up as the bell over the door jangled and she saw the man come in. She gave him only a quick glance. The place was hopping, just as it was every morning at this time. Zoe hadn't come back. Jill had tried to reach her at home, but there was no answer. She was worried. Worried about Zoe's reaction to Trevor's murder.

Now Jill wished she'd had the sense to close the shop, but she'd needed to bake this morning to try to keep her mind off what had happened. Not that it had done much good.

"Can I help you?" Jill asked as the man walked up to the counter. At first glance he looked like a lot of summer people-thirtysomething, tanned, blond, dressed in cutoffs, T-s.h.i.+rt and Mexican sandals.

That was why she was surprised by the tiny shock of awareness that made her skin tingle and her gaze dart up to his. His eyes were hidden behind sungla.s.ses, the mirrored kind, so all she saw was her own reflection and the startled, flushed look on her face before he pushed them up and rested them on his head.

He was boy-next-door handsome, yes. But with an edge. And he was obviously fit, his shoulders broad, arms muscular and matted with blond hair, legs long, tan and strong-looking.

That still didn't explain her reaction. Or his.

A lock of blond hair hung over his forehead. He looked like a man who was comfortable with himself, with his surroundings. So why did he seem surprised by her reaction to him? Startled by it? He was probably used to women falling all over him.

"I'd really like one of those cinnamon rolls," he said. "They smell incredible." He smiled then, almost tentatively, as if afraid of her reaction.

She returned the smile, hoping he didn't notice just how fl.u.s.tered he made her. "Would you like coffee with that?"

He glanced toward the empty table by the window. "Please. I could use the caffeine. Black."

She rang up his order and took the money he'd set on the counter. "I'll bring it over to you if you'd like to grab that seat."

Her hand trembled as she scooped a cinnamon roll from the pan and slid it onto a plate for him. It was just nerves. A delayed reaction to Trevor's murder. To everything that had happened.

But she knew what had her shaken was her reaction to the man in the cottage last night. Surely she wasn't now reacting like that to all all men, was she? men, was she?

She added a fork to the plate, poured a mug of coffee and headed to his table, aware he'd been watching her intently the whole time. Probably wondering what her problem was.

"Thanks," he said as she put the coffee down in front of him. "This is a great place you have here. I wish I'd known about it sooner." He was studying her, frowning a little as his gaze skimmed over her bruised cheek and forehead.

"Are you here for the summer?" she asked, trying to make her usual conversation as his long, tanned fingers curled around the mug to move it out of the way so she could put down the plate with the cinnamon roll on it.

His fingers brushed hers.

The shock wave arced from her fingers through her body. She jerked back, dropping the plate the last couple of inches. It rattled down on the tabletop.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, feeling foolish for jumping the way she had. Her fingers still tingled where he'd touched them, and her heart was pounding.

"My fault. Static electricity," he said. "It's the dry heat."

She nodded, momentarily distracted by his mouth, a generous mouth, the lips almost...familiar. "Have we met before?" She couldn't believe she'd said that as she raised her gaze to his. "I'm sorry, that sounds like a line. I didn't mean-"

"It happens to me all the time," he said easily. "I guess I have a generic look."

Generic? No. Like Trevor? Yes. His body was about average height. Muscular. A lot like Trevor's had been the last time she'd seen him. Except this man was stronger-looking, harder- The bell over the door jangled, and she swung around to see Deputies Duncan and Samuelson enter the bakery.

"I'm not usually..." Words failed her as she looked again at the man at the table.

"You're swamped," he said. He seemed to study her. "It looks like you have everything under control."

She smiled at that because it was so far off base. Without another word, she hurried to the counter, the air thick with the scent of warm, cinnamony baked buns.

She couldn't believe the way she'd embarra.s.sed herself. She shot a glance at the man she'd just served. He was watching the deputies with interest. Again she felt an odd jolt of...something familiar.

"We'll take a couple cups of coffee, black, and-" Deputy Duncan looked at Samuelson, who shook his head "-just one of your cinnamon rolls." Duncan smiled.

But Jill knew they hadn't come here for her coffee or cinnamon rolls. She rang up their order and took the cash Duncan handed her.

"Keep the change," he said. "When you have a minute, we'd like to talk to you." He and Samuelson headed for a table that had just been vacated.

Jill heard the kitchen door swing open and wondered how her father had gotten back so soon from making deliveries.

But it was Zoe. "I'm sorry," the girl said quickly, looking contrite. "I didn't mean to run out like that. It's just that..."

Yes, it was just what? Jill waited.

"...I've never known anyone who was murdered before." Zoe's eyes were wide with genuine fear.

"It's all right," Jill said, and reached for Zoe. The girl stepped into her hug and held on to Jill with a force that surprised her. She'd always thought that nothing could scare Zoe. "We're all upset. Can you help finish up here? I think we'll close early."

Zoe nodded wordlessly. "I can stay as long as you need me."

"Great. Bus the tables and then start on the kitchen."

Jill filled two mugs with black coffee and scooped a cinnamon roll onto a plate, added a fork and, taking a breath, walked toward the deputies. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. She felt as if she was losing her mind.