Landry's Law

“I used a small portion of my family trust to start my own wholesale business.”

“Why wholesale?” she asked. “Wouldn’t a store have a higher profit margin?”

He offered her a smile full of perfectly capped teeth at the very instant she noted a familiar silhouette reflected in the window behind Bill’s perfectly coifed hair.

Seth Landry. Damn! she thought silently.

Bill was explaining something about his business, but Savannah was distracted as she watched Seth join Junior at the bar. Whatever he said to Junior made the shy man laugh.

She watched for a few more seconds as anger formed and grew in the pit of her stomach. Seth and Junior seemed to be having a fine old time. Surely Junior had told Seth what he was doing at the bar. So why hadn’t Seth turned in her direction? Worse still, why did she want him to? The guy had her brain all twisted.

“…must be boring you,” Bill commented, his cheeks stained a pale pink.

Savannah regrouped and gave him her very best smile. In a feline fashion, Savannah reached out and touched Bill’s hand, then made breeze-soft circles on his palm. “Not at all,” she assured him. “I was just distracted for an instant. Please, continue.”

Bill’s fit body seemed to swell inside his designer silk jacket as a result of her suddenly rapt attention. And Bill wasn’t the only one to notice. In the reflection she could see that both Junior and Seth had swiveled on their bar stools and were openly watching them.

Bill, thankfully, was oblivious. He continued his mostly one-sided conversation even after their entrées were served. “At first I was going to go the jewelry store route, but if you grow up in a small town, you either love it or hate it,” he explained.

“I’ll guess you hated it,” Savannah said.

Bill nodded and then waved in the direction of the bar. To Savannah’s utter mortification, Junior was leaving. Actually, the mortification was because, apparently, Seth was staying. Nothing like having the sheriff as your babysitter on a date.

“You’re nice to Junior,” Savannah opined with genuine admiration.

“He had it rough,” Bill said. “He’s always had that lisp and those glasses. The kids were cruel to him growing up, which was exactly what he didn’t need. Especially after his dad died in a hunting accident when he was about thirteen.”

Savannah remembered that there were no photographs of Olive’s husband around. Perhaps losing someone she loved suddenly had been so painful, Olive preferred not to display them. “Children can be nasty to one another.” She repressed her desire to recall some of the hateful things she and her siblings had said to one another over the years. All chances for her to apologize had ended six years ago.

“Don’t look so depressed. Junior took most of it in stride and he always had Olive to rebuild his self-esteem.”

“Still,” Savannah commented, “it must have hurt to have every kid in town ragging on him.”

“Not every kid,” Bill corrected. “Seth made sure of that.”

“Seth—as in Sheriff Seth?”

Bill nodded, but his mood seemed to sour. “The same Seth who is sitting over there watching us.”

It was Savannah’s turn to blush. “I think he thinks he’s doing his job.”

Bill snorted dismissively. “I had a couple of reservations about this evening, but now that I’ve met you, I can’t believe for one minute that you’re some sort of serial killer.”

“Thanks. You’re a minority, though.”

“That’s why I left town as soon as I could. The gossip mongering in this town makes Peyton Place seem like the friendliest community on earth.”

They both laughed. Then Savannah asked, “Were you ever the subject of gossip?”

“Sure. When I was seventeen, the whole town knew I lost my virginity before I did.”

Savannah laughed again. She was beginning to relax. Bill’s sense of humor was a wonderful salve on her frazzled nerves. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“A bit. But I got labeled as a—” he made quote signs with his fingers “—pillager of Jasper’s crop of young women.”

“Seventeen is pretty young.”

Bill made a noncommittal move with his shoulders. “I got lucky all of two times when I lived here. The pillagers were the sainted Landry brothers. But no one dared disparage a Landry. Not in Jasper.”

Based on his sudden frown, she realized Bill wasn’t fond of their lookout. “I guess boys will be boys,” Savannah quipped, hoping to lighten the tone of the conversation.

“They weren’t boys, they were a herd,” Bill countered with open hostility. “It wasn’t like you could have a beef with one of them. If you made one Landry mad, they all showed up to dole out some attitude adjustment.”

“I’ve met Sam and his wife. They seem awfully nice.”

Bill downed the remainder of his drink. “I don’t know why I’m complaining about them now. That was more than twenty years ago and they all seem to have settled down. At least, that’s what my mother used to claim in her letters.”

“Enough about Landrys,” Savannah insisted. “Since there’s no jewelry shop in Jasper, I’ll assume you just stopped for the night for old times’ sake?”

“For Angelica Seagal,” Bill countered with a wide grin.

“Sorry, the name isn’t familiar.”

“Angelica designs jewelry. I supply the gemstones.”

“So you have to come all the way here from…speaking of which, where is your home base?”

“Saint Paul. And if I didn’t come here to haggle with Angelica, she’d find a way to hunt me down.”

“Why?”

“Angelica and I go way back. She was my prom date, in fact.”

“Seagal Signature Jewelry?” Savannah asked, suddenly putting the name together with the pricey jewelry sold in only the top jewelry stores. A Seagal Signature was the present-day equivalent of having a Louis Comfort Tiffany piece at the turn of the century.

“The very one.”

“I had no idea Jasper had a genuine celebrity.”

“Angelica is an artist,” Bill said. “Which really only means she’s a bit on the weird side. She has some live-in assistant. His name is Vincent.”

“Vincent what?” Savannah queried. “Maybe I’ve met him.”

“Just Vincent,” Bill said with humor in his voice. “He looks a little bit like Lurch from The Addams Family, only with white hair.”

“I think I’ve seen him walk past the shop to the post office. He is a tad on the creepy side,” she admitted with a wicked grin.

“I believe Angelica thinks it’s terribly artsy to have Vincent around. If nothing else, he’s probably a good deterrent to anyone thinking of breaking into her studio.”

“Where does she work?”

“The old assay office at the end of Main Street. But I wouldn’t suggest visiting. Angelica is very private.”

Savannah pushed away her nearly empty plate. “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing a genius at work. But I would love to see some of her work up close—not behind the glass of a store window.”

Bill finished his plate, as well. “I can’t show you her work, but I can show you some sketches she sent me and the jewels I brought for them.”

Savannah felt her eyes grow wide. “Really?”

“Sure,” Bill said. “I’ve got them up in my room.”

He must have registered her reaction to the notion of going to his room because he added, “I have no ulterior motive,” he promised. “Although, if you’re interested, I’m game,” he teased.

“Sorry,” Savannah said on a breath. “I’ve really enjoyed having dinner with you, but it stops there, okay?”

“No,” he said as he stood, pulled several bills from his pocket and took her hand. “It stops right after I show you Angelica’s sketches and the most incredible diamonds, rubies and emeralds anywhere on the face of God’s great earth.”

Savannah pretended to ignore the look of censure from Seth as she followed Bill to the guest room elevators.

Once they were inside the elevator compartment, Bill asked, “Am I poaching on Landry territory?”

“Heavens, no!” she insisted. “Seth’s only interest in me is professional.”

“The looks he’s been giving you all night look more personal to me.”

“He was probably just hoping I’d whip out a .22 and shoot you at the table so he could close his investigation.”

“He’ll figure out who did the other murders,” Bill assured her as he guided her inside his suite. “Seth can be a pain, but he’s pretty good at his job.”

Savannah surveyed the room. There was a comfortable living room area with beautiful views of the moonlit mountains in the distance. She ran her hand along the edge of the leather sofa while Bill disappeared into the adjoining room, closing the door as he mumbled something about a safe. It was quiet in the room, save for the insulation. She could hear muffled voices and the sound of a car backfiring in the parking lot below.

Savannah checked her watch. Bill had been in the bedroom for almost ten minutes. Maybe he’s in the little gem sellers’ room, she thought. After another minute went by, Savannah called out to him.

Just as she did, there was a knock at the door. Savannah was still calling Bill’s name when she opened the door to a scowling Seth.

A scowling Seth with his weapon drawn.

“What are you doing?”

“Where is he?” Seth barked.

“In the bedroom. He went in there about ten minutes ago to bring out some gems to show me.”

Seth shoved her onto the sofa as he went to the door and kicked it in.

From her vantage point, Savannah could see Bill on the floor.

Blood trickled from a single hole in his forehead.

Chapter Four

Ignoring Savannah’s shocked expression, Seth raced out into the hall, crouched and ready to fire. Only problem was, there was no one in the long, deserted hallway.

It made no sense, he thought as he returned to Bill Grayson’s suite and called the coroner and J.D. Savannah was as still as a painting.

He went over to where she sat on the couch, stark white and staring blankly into space. He took her hands in his. She was trembling.

“He was shot with a .22. Where’s the gun, Savannah?”

His question brought her out of her fog. “The gun? I don’t have a gun! I didn’t shoot him.”

Seth frowned deeply, trying to make sense of her proclamations of innocence and the conflicting facts.

The facts were he had received a call of shots fired at the inn and was inside the elevator in less than ten seconds after the call. It was maybe a total of thirty seconds before he kicked in the door to Grayson’s bedroom. The room still smelled of gunpowder. Meaning the fatal shot had been fired within the last few moments. He checked his watch, noting the time was 9:33.

Though there was a second exit from the bedroom, Seth had already noted that it was bolted from the inside. Which meant the killer had to run past Savannah to make his quick escape. Or—

Or she was the killer.

“I have to search you and your bag,” Seth explained.

Savannah’s ire had begun to rise. She held her arms out to her sides and said, “Search away.”

Seth had her turn so her back was to him. She felt him grab a handful of her vintage dress and pull it taut against her body. “You break it, you bought it,” she snidely commented. “Those seams you’re straining were sown when people like you were busy chasing Al Capone.”

Using his nightstick, Seth ran it along her entire body. She should have been furious at the indignity of it, but for some reason, she wasn’t. Maybe it was just that it had been too long since she’d had any close contact with a man. Savannah almost laughed aloud at that absurd thought. What she was inappropriately feeling had nothing to do with men in general. It had to do with this man. Mainly because she could hear the slight catch in his breath when he checked the more intimate areas of her body. She only hoped the reverse wasn’t true. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Dr. Hall, the coroner, and J.D. arrived then, moving into the adjoining bedroom on Seth’s command. Dumping the contents of her purse on the coffee table, Seth found nothing of interest—except for a foil-wrapped condom. Savannah wanted the floor to open and swallow her as Seth gave her one of those “Big plans, eh?” looks.

“Better safe than sorry,” she said, realizing it was a pretty lame comment. But it sounded better than That thing’s been in my purse for years and I’d forgotten about it until just now. She was sure he wouldn’t believe the truth.

“Stand up, please.”

“Why?”

His expression was a mixture of frustration and restraint. “I have to cuff you.”

“Cuff me?” she parroted, unbelieving. “But I didn’t do anything!”

“I have to take you in for a paraffin test and another statement.”

Savannah let out a deflating sigh. “Not again.”

Seth met her exasperated gaze. “I don’t have a choice, Savannah. Unless you can explain how someone else managed to shoot Bill, then vanish.”

J.D. entered the room. “That ain’t all that vanished. The safe is open and there’s nothing in it. We found an invoice in his briefcase. Said he had more than a million in gems on him.”

Savannah felt the cold, hard handcuffs being snapped into place.

Dr. Hall emerged and said, “Judging by the body temperature and the air temperature measurements, this guy’s only been dead for about ten minutes. Not even enough time for any lividity to begin.”

“Let’s go, Savannah.”

She struggled against his hold. “Hasn’t it occurred to any of you geniuses that Seth didn’t find a gun or any jewels on me? He was here within minutes of the shot being fired. When did I have time to hide the murder weapon and the gems?”

“Good point,” Seth said.

Savannah relaxed a bit.

“J.D., tear this room apart. The murder weapon and the gems must still be here.”

Savannah called him a hateful name as he led her out of the suite and down through the gauntlet of gawkers to his Bronco. She hadn’t killed Bill, but she would gladly have killed Seth in that instant.

HE WAS IMPRESSED. She hadn’t shed a single tear. Savannah had taken the paraffin test, then asked permission to make a phone call. Seth guessed she had more class in her little finger than most folks had in their whole bodies. It had about killed him to send her downstairs to the matron, Mable. But the cavity search was necessary with a million bucks worth of gems missing.

Seth locked his hands behind his head and squeezed his weary eyes closed. Save for the lack of the weapon and other evidence, Savannah was the only logical suspect. Then why do I feel like I’m putting together a jigsaw puzzle with one piece missing?

“Uh, Sheriff?” J.D. hesitantly questioned from the doorway.

Seth let out a breath and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “What!”

J.D. jumped a bit at Seth’s harsh tone.

“I mean,” Seth began more amicably, “What do you have?”

“The matron didn’t find any gems during the search. She suggested we take her to get an X ray in case she swallowed them. There was nothing at the hotel. We didn’t find the suspect’s fingerprints in the room. Just the dead guy and a partial thumbprint on the door.”

“Which one?”

“The main door,” J.D. answered.

“Great,” Seth groused. “Who knows how long that’s been there? Send it to the state police and ask them to run it.”

“Yes, sir.” J.D. turned to leave.

“And while you’re at it, ask them when I can expect the background reports on Fowler and Whitlock. Ask them to start the drill on Bill Grayson, too. Maybe he didn’t have a million dollars worth of gems, which would explain why we can’t find them.”

“Okay. You look tired,” J.D. observed.

“Beat,” Seth concurred. “But since I just awakened Judge Duckett for a search warrant for Savannah’s home and workplace, my night isn’t over yet.” Seth slipped on his department-issue parka and started toward the door. He hesitated briefly at the top of the stairs leading to the cells below. He was secretly glad Mable hadn’t found the gems.

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t standing there thinking about gems. He was thinking about the necessary invasive procedure that had been done to Savannah. He was remembering the look of unbridled hate in her multicolored eyes when he was performing the paraffin test. For some reason, her hatred cut to the bone.

Just like the frigid January air that battered him as he walked the few steps to his Bronco. He’d have to drive an hour into Helena to get the warrant, then two hours to Savannah’s cabin. He decided to stop at the Cowboy Café off Jasper Park to have Ruthie fill him a thermos of coffee. It was going to be a long night.

The parking lot was filled with pickups and semis. No matter what time of day you went in, the place smelled of bacon and coffee. He sauntered up to the chipped Formica counter, squeezing between two turquoise Naugahyde stools. One of the stool cushions was being held together with a worn, curled piece of duct tape.

Ruthie greeted him immediately. She was an attractive redhead, divorced, with a thirteen-year-old who was working real hard on finding his way into juvenile detention. It wasn’t that Ruthie was a bad mother to Cal. Quite the opposite. It was just that Ruthie was forced to work nights to keep them in their modest mobile home, which meant Cal was basically without supervision. Too bad, too, since the kid was as smart as all hell. During his minor brushes with Seth, Cal had impressed him with his intelligence. Too bad he had a chip the size of Glacier National Park on his shoulder. Intelligence and bad attitude could be a deadly combination.

“Hi, there,” Ruthie said, leaning half across the counter so that Seth could—had he wanted to—look directly down the front of her tight blue waitress’s uniform. He smiled and passed on the opportunity yet again. Their relationship had ended more than two years ago. And he knew her flirtations were harmless, kind of her way of thanking him for keeping watch over Cal. Unfortunately, her actions fed the speculation of the town. Nearly everyone thought he was still involved with Ruthie. They wouldn’t even listen to his explanation that they were just good friends.

“I need a thermos to go.”

Ruthie’s green eyes grew wide. “Is it true? Did the Black Widow strike again?”

“Haven’t seen any black widows in these parts this time of year.”

Ruthie pouted. “You know who I mean. That snooty woman who won’t tell no one where she’s from ’cept ‘back East.’”

“If you’re talking about Miss Wyatt, then I have no comment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruthie demanded as she passed him a full thermos.

“It means I can’t discuss an open investigation.”

Ruthie smirked. “Then it’s true! She killed old Billy Grayson for them jewels he was always bringing to Angelica. She’s another snooty one, by the way.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” Seth said, tossing a few dollars on the counter. Ruthie made sure she had his attention as she slipped the bills not into the register, but into her lacy brassiere.

As he drove northwest in the blackness, Seth was perplexed. He always flirted with Ruthie. It was like a ritual. So why tonight had he found her so…so…brazen? Because Savannah wouldn’t bare her bosom for a dollar tip. How in the hell had Savannah gotten under his skin like this? Cripe! She was a suspect, not a potential bride.

“Damn!” Seth spilled hot coffee on his hand at the mere thought of the word bride. Until just then, he didn’t think the word was in his vocabulary. He loved women, all women. But never just one woman. Especially not the only woman currently sitting in one of his jail cells.

IT WAS NEARLY three in the morning when Seth arrived at Savannah’s cabin. Using the keys from the evidence bag collected at the Mountainview Inn, he let himself inside.

Almost instantly he was assaulted with all kinds of feminine scents. He could make out jasmine, gardenia and lilac. He realized the odors were from the scented candles that she had everywhere. But there was a subtler scent under all the florals. It was the faint shadow of her perfume.

I’m here to search, not get aroused, he warned himself.

By the light of the half-moon, Seth went over to a floor lamp and pulled on the fringed tassel to turn it on. It was truly an eclectic room.

The red sofa was at an angle, a corner cabinet placed behind it. The coffee table sat on some faux fur rug and he found a footstool covered in the same faux fur. There was a white-and-green chair by the mason fireplace. There must have been fifty pillows of assorted sizes and shapes on the furniture and tossed around the room. She also had an odd collection of old hatboxes mixed with some large wooden boxes off in one corner. He decided to start there.

As he reached for the first hatbox, he noticed the walls. They were painted a muted green, and someone—Savannah was his guess—had taken the time to stencil a border of red-and-white flowers with green vines all around the room. Above the floor lamp illuminating the room, he discovered that she had stenciled a birdcage, complete with bird. It was so real, he half expected it to break into song at any moment.

Though Seth had managed to keep it out of the papers, the killer had taken trophies from each victim. According to Fowler’s family, he always wore a silver pendant around his neck. Because of his work with his church, he had a Saint Barnabas medal on his person at all times. Except when his body had been fished from the freezing waters of Brock Creek behind the Mountainview Inn.

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