“Close, but no banana. I’ll pretend to be an estimator.”

***

Jonathan’s roofing yard was only a few miles from Cory and Jennifer’s house, so even if he was tracking our mileage, I reasoned he’d never notice the little side trip we were about to make. He was waiting at the gate when we pulled up.

“I didn’t think I’d see you around here after last time,” he said after I parked my Jeep.

Bonnie got out, slammed her door, and spoke before I could. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Jon. Jake has been good enough to help me, so I’d appreciate it if you could hold your tongue.”

Jonathan smiled exactly the way Paul Wilson had that day at the bookstore when Cory had questioned him about the gold. Hannibal Lecter must have been an inspiration for both of them. “Sorry, Aunt Bonnie, but you don’t need his help. Mom would kill me if I didn’t do it for you.”

***

Bonnie went with Jon to get her treadmill when we realized he wasn’t going to let us use his truck. The ride home with Fred gave me time to rethink my plan on using the IP camera. I didn’t want to run up my credit card with the purchase anyway, so in the end I decided to find another way to smoke out Shelia, if it really was her who I had seen at Craig’s. For all I knew she was truly dead and the girl I saw was someone Crig had picked up at a bar. But on a whim, I decided to do a quick drive-by anyway.

Craig’s new SUV wasn’t in his drive, or the garage. I thought it odd he left the garage door open. If he was home, where was his car? Once again, I drove back to the Casa Bonita parking lot, put Fred on a leash and headed west on Colfax toward Saulsbury Street.

Fred stopped at a telephone pole on the corner of Pierce and Colfax. I pretended to look at some posters on the pole when I saw him lift a leg.

“This could be you, buddy, if they arrest me for what you’re about to do,” I said when I saw a poster for a lost dog stapled between a poster for a week old garage sale, and another for a missing woman. He didn’t seem to care and went about his business anyway. I was about to scold him before I did a double take of the poster. The woman could easily pass for Shelia’s sister.

I didn’t know what I expected once we’d made it back to Craig’s house. Bonnie’s theory that they used a body double to fake Shelia’s murder was beginning to make sense. Part of me was hoping his new girlfriend would answer the door and dispel my suspicions while another part didn’t want anyone to answer, especially not Craig. When no one answered, I looked around at the neighbors’ houses to see if anyone was watching, then casually walked down the drive toward the garage.

Most of the houses on the block had detached garages built at the back of the house. At least, those that had garages. It was an older neighborhood, built in the thirties and forties when garages were a luxury. It was obvious Craig’s garage was an afterthought, built in the late fifties or early sixties, because the architectural style wasn’t even close to that of the house. The garage had stucco walls and a flat roof, whereas the house was clad in asbestos siding with an asphalt shingle roof. I also discovered why the door had been left open—here wasn’t one. What must have been its door, or what was left of it, was lying against a side of the garage I couldn’t see from the street. It was one of those doors that consisted of two-foot panels that slid on rollers, and there was only one panel I could see.

The temptation to snoop inside was too great. “Stay here and warn me if anyone comes back, Freddie.” He had been following me so closely he could have been my shadow, if I had large floppy ears and a tail.

Fred looked at me like I’d just eaten a burger and didn’t give him any. “Please, Freddie. I need you to be my lookout.”

He stayed when I went into the garage, but something told me it wouldn’t last long so I had better be quick. I had no idea what I was looking for. If Craig had killed Shelia, would he be dumb enough to leave evidence in a garage less than twenty feet from the murder scene?

Once inside, I couldn’t see anything of value. It was a small garage, with a workbench on the side that must have made it difficult to park a car larger than his old Toyota. That explained why he parked his new SUV in the driveway. A quick glance showed no tools on the bench or walls, which didn’t surprise me, because they wouldn’t last long in an open garage in this part of town. I was about to leave when I decided to check the floor for oil stains, but that, too, was a disappointment. The power-steering fluid I hoped to find on the floor didn’t exist. The only discoloration I saw were dirty, dark, puddles of oil from a tired engine.

Fred’s tail beat faster than a hammer-drill on high when I returned. “I’m happy to see you too, Freddie. Are you ready to get out of here before we get caught?,”

He barked once before heading down the driveway toward the street. I swear he acted like we had just robbed a bank. I thought for sure he wanted to get away before the posse showed up, but he surprised me. Instead of going to the car, he stopped at a trash can and barked again.

I knew him too well to ignore his outburst. “Is there something in there?”

He answered with a grin.

Once more, I looked around to see if we were being watched before lifting the lid from the trash can. “Is food all you ever think about?” I asked when I saw somebody’s partially eaten, worm-infested sandwich. I was about to put the lid back and leave when I realized the worms weren’t moving. In fact, they weren’t worms at all. They were pieces of tape from an old cassette. But not any cassette, it was tape from a mini-DV cartridge, like the one my old camcorder used. I pushed the sandwich aside, and saw the rest of my tape. Someone had tried to destroy it by cutting it into pieces.

Fred barked before I finished gathering the larger pieces of tape into a bundle I could carry. “What now, Freddie?” He was looking toward the house.

This time the hair on the back of my neck rose. It was like one of those eerie feelings one gets when walking by a cemetery late at night. I felt someone was watching us and looked up in time to see a curtain moving inside the window facing us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jon waved me down after I’d turned onto Columbine Circle. His truck was parked in Bonnie’s driveway with the treadmill resting on the tailgate, where he sat smoking a cigarette. I pulled in behind him instead of going up the road to my cabin.

He flipped the cigarette aside. “It’s about time you showed up. I was about to give up on you.”

Fred wasted no time running up to our cabin the minute I let him out. I didn’t bother calling him back, for he wouldn’t be much help with the treadmill anyway.

Maybe Fred didn’t care if Jon burned down our mountain, but I did, and walked over to his discarded cigarette to stomp on it. “Where’s Bonnie?” I asked, feeling bile rising in my stomach. I felt like telling him what an idiot he was, but held it in for Bonnie’s sake.

He pulled out his cell phone from a shirt pocket, pretending not to notice me extinguishing his cigarette. “Dropped her off at the book store. She got a call from that friend of hers on the way up here. Told me to wait for you cause you had a key.” He never once took his eyes off his phone to look at me.

“Patty?” I asked, mesmerized by the way his thumbs danced on the virtual keyboard.

“I guess. She didn’t say.” He finally looked up from his texting. “Well Smoky the Bear, if you’re ready to help me, I’ve really got better things to do than sit around yakking about a couple of old women.”

A year ago I would have told him where he could put the treadmill, but ever since Julie died I no longer let rude people upset me. She taught me that life really is too short to get upset over ignorant people, so I bit my tongue and counted to ten instead.