The Girl in the Moss Page 20

  “Did Garrison know Shelley had come in and seen him in the booth with Jasmine?”

  “I have no fucking idea, okay? This right here is where I draw the line, because none of this shit has anything to do with the accident. If you go up to the lodge asking Shelley and Garrison these questions about adultery after all these years, what in the hell good do you think is going to come of that? What good is that going to do Jasmine Gulati’s grandmother, eh? When you go telling the old judge that her grandkid was fucking married men. She was a class-A bitch who begged for trouble.”

  “Problem, Jessie?”

  Angie spun at the sound of the voice. The big blond male loomed behind her. Even twenty-four years after seeing him captured on film, Angie recognized him instantly as Mr. Toothless, who’d gone head-to-head with Jasmine. Wallace “Wally” Carmanagh. Even larger in life. With shiny-white crowns that didn’t quite match the shade of the rest of his teeth.

  “Wallace Carmanagh,” Angie said, turning to face the man squarely. She kept her feet slightly planted apart, her weight positioned more heavily on her back foot—a defensive posture kicking in. She was suddenly acutely conscious of her knife sheathed to her belt under her jacket. She was also aware she no longer carried a sidearm and was no longer protected by backup. The men in the warehouse shifted closer. Angie mentally calculated the distance to her Mini Cooper parked near Jessie’s office.

  Wallace ignored her and turned on his brother. “Don’t say another fucking word, Jessie. I don’t know what the fuck you agreed to talk to her for.” He jabbed his finger in Angie’s direction. “A PI like her gathers dirt about people. She sweet-talks them into giving information her client will use to file a lawsuit. You mark my words, that’s what she’s looking for. To sue your and Garrison’s asses off for some stupid accident on the river a quarter of a century ago.”

  He faced Angie. “And you—you get your tight little ass the hell outta town before someone gets hurt, you hear me?”

  Conscious of her recording device still activated in her front pocket, Angie said with feigned calm, “Is that a threat, Mr. Carmanagh?”

  The twins extracted themselves from the group in the warehouse and came toward them fast. Fear curled into Angie. It was getting dark. The other employees had gone. Just this group of big men and her on a wharf in the rain and mist.

  “Got a spot of trouble there, Wally?” It was one of the twins, his voice rough, deep.

  “Joey and Beau Tollet?” she said with feigned cheer. “I was hoping to chat with you both as well.” Angie turned in a slow semicircle, meeting each man’s eyes in turn while positioning herself with a clear run to her car.

  “The women on the fishing trip said they were being followed by a group of three men while on the river. One might have been carrying a rifle or some other weapon. They also said they heard a banjo at night. Do you know who might have been taunting them?”

  Silence.

  The buoy banged louder against the side of the hangar.

  Angie cleared her throat. “Were some of you perhaps trying to spook the women because Jasmine Gulati was disrespectful in the pub that first night?”

  A ripple of energy coursed through them. The wall of hostility thickened. Wind gusted and sent a crate cartwheeling over the paving with a loud clacking sound. It landed in the water and started drifting into the mist. No one moved.

  “Look, I know she was difficult,” Angie said. “It’s all on film what she said to you. It was blatantly rude, so I wouldn’t blame anyone trying to teach her a lesson by spooking her.”

  “That Jasmine Gulati was bad news,” Wallace growled. “She needed a warning. If there were banjos out there, it would’ve been to teach Gulati and her friends that you don’t come in here badmouthing locals, I don’t care who you are.”

  “Or you don’t go committing adultery with the locals?” Angie prompted carefully, still conscious of her recorder rolling, of her escape routes.

  “Thou shalt not lead into temptation,” Beau Tollet offered darkly, his voice low. Metal clanked. A horn sounded in the mist.

  “So it was her fault that Garrison Tollet cheated on his wife? Because he was lured, tempted by a sinful, evil woman?”

  Silence.

  “And then the sinful woman went and slipped and fell. Right above the falls.”

  “Sounds about right,” Wallace said.

  “Okay,” Angie said, defusing, de-escalating. “I understand your point of view, I do. She might have needed a lesson. Might have needed to be spooked into her place. Maybe one of you had a banjo. That’s fine. No harm, no foul, right? But if you guys were out there lurking in the woods, tracking, following, hazing the women, watching them, one of you must have seen Jasmine fishing alone. Maybe you even saw her fall into the river?”

  Silence.

  “Did anyone see what happened?”

  Wallace took a step closer. “I’m going to say this one more time, Miss Private Investigator, and I’m going to say it nice and slow. Why don’t you go put your ass back into that little dinky vehicle of yours and drive yourself out of town? You be gone come morning, and nothing goes wrong.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your time, Jessie, Wallace, Joey, Beau. And your advice.” Angie calmly stuck her photos back into her sling bag as she spoke. She looked up and met Wallace’s gaze, feeling a chill inside as she did. “And I will be gone. Soon as I’m done here.”

  She zipped her bag closed and repositioned it across her body. “You wouldn’t know what happened to Jasmine’s purple journal would you, Jessie? The one she was always writing in, the one with the sexy content?” She looked into his face, wet with rain. In his eyes, in his stance, she detected conflict.

  Something in Jessie Carmanagh wanted to help, but he was afraid. Energy coursed through Angie at this realization. There was a lot more happening here than had at first met her eye. The dynamic of this group of males was charged.

  “No,” Jessie said. “Last I saw of that diary, the Hart kid was reading it in the bushes.”

  She stalled. “What?”

  “Rachel Hart’s kid was reading it. In private. In the bushes.”

  Eden’s words raced through her mind. I never read it. But I wanted to.

  “Are you sure?”

  Tension hung thick.

  “You calling me a liar?” Jessie said.

  “No. I just want to be certain.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Only surprised me that the kid hadn’t taken it sooner the way Jasmine was tempting her with it.”

  Tempting her with it?

  “Right. Thanks, gentlemen.” Angie tried to walk back to her car in a casual fashion, but she felt the men’s eyes boring into her back. In her gut she knew she had not heard or seen the end of this Tollet-Carmanagh gang. She fully expected the twang of banjos in her own near future.

  Back at the motel, Angie took a scalding shower before changing into dry jeans and a comfy sweater. She called Coastal Investigations and left a message for the data clerk, who would be in the office first thing Wednesday morning. She asked the clerk to run background and criminal records checks on Wallace and Jessie Carmanagh, twins Beau and Joey Tollet, Garrison Tollet, Jim “Budge” Hargreaves, and Tack McWhirther, who was now deceased. She killed the call and gathered her files and computer. If any one of those guys had a record, it might speak to a pattern of behavior, show what they could be capable of. Right now Angie wanted to know for her own safety.

  So far her biggest takeaway from her visit to the Sea-Tech compound was that either Jessie Tollet was lying and setting up Rachel Hart for something, or Rachel had lied. Regarding Eden having read or not read the journal, in that case a teen’s memories might be fickle. It was always a possibility in old and cold cases like this—memory was a trickster. Angie knew this well.

  Her other takeaway was a firm belief that Wallace and the Tollet twins had acted all Deliverance-ish and hazed the women on the river. The question now was, had one of those men seen what happened to Jasmi
ne?

  If so, why had they not fessed up or done anything to help her? Plus a darker question lingered: Could one of them have pushed Jasmine Gulati to her death? Could they have punished a “sinner” who’d lured a man from his wife?

  In need of food and a hot drink, Angie took her work and headed across the road to the Mariner’s Diner. The eatery still bore the same name as it had in Rachel’s footage and looked as though it had not seen new owners or a facelift since. She figured it might be a good place to gather some old-timers’ lowdown on the Tollets and Carmanaghs while she grabbed a bite to eat.

  CHAPTER 27

  Angie took a booth beneath a window that looked out over stormy Ferris Bay. The Mariner’s Diner was surprisingly quiet for dinner hour—just two whiskery old men in dungarees playing chess and drinking coffees at a table close to the door and one male on a stool at the counter.

  A woman in her early sixties was the lone staffer out front. She took Angie’s order and said her name was Babs. She fed her slip of paper through a hatch into a kitchen at the back, where a loudmouthed chef boomed the order out to some minion who did the grunt cooking.

  Angie’s booth was near the rear of the diner, and she spread her laptop, files, and photographs out over the table. While she awaited her fried chicken sandwich, she sipped coffee and jotted notes in her case book. She’d have her recorded interviews transcribed by staff at CI later, but the physical act of putting pen to paper helped Angie summarize her thoughts, highlight anomalies, and formulate new questions. She was also being purposefully open about what she was doing in this diner. The motel receptionist had told her Babs the waitress had worked at the Mariner’s for almost as long as it had been open. Angie reckoned someone like Babs would have a handle on juicy Port Ferris gossip. The old waitress might even get a kick out of being able to help with an investigation.

  Topmost on Angie’s mind was the fact Jasmine Gulati had offended a lot of people. Jaz had been gasoline to an angry flame, and discrepancies were emerging from witnesses.

  In Angie’s mind there was a real possibility developing that foul play could have occurred on that river. She decided to test out the notion as she began to jot down names of the people who’d expressed dislike for Jasmine, weighing each against what she called her MOM criteria—motive, opportunity, and means. She started with Mr. Toothless and wrote:

  Wallace Carmanagh. Motive: Jaz was rude to him. Aggressive and vindictive personality. Wanted to teach her a lesson. How far would he go? Opportunity: Did not deny having been on the river, possibly for entire duration of trip—could have been one of the Deliverance guys. Could have seen Jaz fishing alone. Was wearing clothes in the pub footage that matched the women’s description of banjo Deliverance dudes hazing them.

  Garrison Tollet. Slept with Jaz (still to be confirmed). Motive: Might have wanted to hide this fact from his wife. Had Jaz threatened or blackmailed him with exposure in some way? Sleeping with a client would also hurt his growing tourism business and livelihood if it was made public. Especially on a documentary. Opportunity: Alone on top of talus ridge. Jessie was alibi that he was on ridge, but is Jessie telling the truth?

  Jessie Carmanagh. Motive: Believed Jasmine was a “class-A bitch,” a bad/evil temptress seducing married men. Needed to be punished? Eliminated? Would also hurt Jessie’s business if it was made public a guide had slept with a client. Opportunity: Left camp with Garrison after Jaz. Was separated from Garrison for a time shortly before Jaz was seen going over the falls. Did he lie about seeing Rachel on the ledge? Or seeing Eden reading Jasmine’s journal?

  Twin Joey Tollet. Motive: Slighted/humiliated by Jasmine. Aggressive personality. Opportunity: Could have been one of the Deliverance guys on the river.

  Twin Beau Tollet. As above. Motive: “Thou shalt not lead into temptation” is how he described Jaz. She needed to be punished?

  Tack McWhirther. Deceased. Motive: Was highly protective of Shelley, his niece. Had witnessed Jasmine “seducing” his young niece’s husband. Wanted to punish Jasmine for seducing Shelley’s husband? Protecting niece in some way? Had he been among the group along the river?

  Angie hesitated, then wrote down:

  Rachel Hart. Lied about where she’d been filming before Jaz went into water? Where are the missing tapes from that night? If she was on the ledge filming, she was alone, no alibi at the time Jaz slipped. Motive?

  Eden Hart. Read diary and lied about it? Or did Jessie lie? Or a young teenager forgot details? If she did read the journal, what did she see in there?

  Where did journal go?

  Angie chewed on the end of her pen. Her plan was to drive out to Predator Lodge first thing tomorrow and interview Garrison and Shelley Tollet. Next, she’d visit the last campsite and the small bay where Jasmine’s rod and the slip marks were found. Angie would then attempt to locate the rock ledge where Jessie claimed Rachel was filming. She’d see if she could get a view from the ledge down to the bay where Jaz allegedly fell into the water.

  She’d also check out Garrison’s and Jessie’s vantage points from the talus ridge. Angie would ask Claire Tollet if she’d guide her around to the other side of the Nahamish for another look at the grave site. Possibly Budge Hargreaves would be home on the Tollet land he rented not far from the grave location. She wanted to talk to him, too. The words the young RCMP officer, Erick Watt, had uttered upon arrival at the grave site sifted through Angie’s mind.

  So Hargreaves just happened to come this way? He walked right into this remote grove? There’s no discernible trail or anything leading into it.

  She recalled the look exchanged between Constable Watt and Constable Darnell Jacobi, who’d been drinking in the pub with Budge Hargreaves that first day of the river trip twenty-four years ago. It all took on a more sinister tone now.

  Angie would like to talk to Jacobi again, too, to get his take on Jasmine’s behavior in the pub that long-ago night. Given the tiny size of the Port Ferris police force, rookie Jacobi would likely have been involved in the search for Jasmine and in taking witness statements. But neither he nor Budge had mentioned the possibility that the skeleton in the moss could have been Jasmine. Angie would expect a good cop to hold back that kind of hypothesis but not someone like Budge.

  Her cell rang. She reached for it, saw it was Ginny’s number. She connected the call.

  “Ginny? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah—guess what?” Her voice was pitched high with excitement. “I just had choir practice at the Catholic cathedral downtown. I spoke to Father Simon afterward. I told him you and Dad were getting married—”

  “Whoa, wait a minute, Ginn. I told you we’re still working things out, and—”

  “I know, I know. But Father Simon said he’d be honored to officiate, Ange. He said he’d love to marry you guys! How freaking cool is that?”

  Memories from more than thirty years ago rushed through Angie. The chilling sound of cathedral bells. Snow. Christmas Eve. Her being stuffed into a cradle opposite the Catholic cathedral in Vancouver. A choir singing the haunting strains of “Ave Maria” in the church as a gun battle erupted outside. Then, last winter, her and Maddocks interviewing Father Simon about a young woman’s death.

  “Angie? Are you there?”

  “I . . . I’m here.”

  Ginny’s tone shifted to one of caution, concern. “Father Simon said he’d do anything to help the woman who fought so hard to find Gracie Drummond’s killer, Angie. I spoke to my choirmaster. So did Lara Pennington. She was one of Gracie’s friends who worked for the floating brothel aboard the Amanda Rose, remember? She’s so deeply grateful that you found the Baptist and stopped him.”

  Stopped him by killing him. Overkilling him. It cost my career.

  “You saved her, Ange. Her life changed because of you. She’s become a volunteer at the Haven shelter for street kids. She’s started to sing like a pure angel, you know. She’s digging deep, and her talent knows no bounds. It’s because of you, she said. Beca
use you and Dad helped her back to a solid place, a place where she’s starting to let go of fear. Bottom line, my whole choir wants to sing at your wedding.”

  Emotion sparked into Angie’s eyes. These words gave her past value, in spite of the personal cost.

  “Ginny,” she said, “I’m not ready to even begin to think about these sorts of decisions. I need—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you need to talk to Dad and all, and I know you haven’t attended a Catholic Mass since you were a kid, but Father Simon says he can work it all out. Just say yes. Let us organize the rest.”

  Angie stared fiercely at her reflection on the salt-grimed window, her mind spinning.

  “Angie?”

  She cleared her throat. “Ginn, thank you. This is a wonderful option. When I’m done with this case, I’ll see how things stand with your dad, and—”

  “I . . . uh, sorta gave Father Simon a date.”

  “What?”

  “Just to block it off on the church calendar. You need to book these things way in advance, Angie. You can always cancel.”

  Her hand tensed on her phone. “What date?

  “April twenty-seventh. It’s a Saturday. The cherry blossoms will be out. The streets will be all pink and white.”

  Shit. She wanted to be mad at this kid. At the same time, she loved the young woman for what she was doing.

  “Angie?”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I need to think.”

  “Okay, then think. Work on your case, and leave the rest to me.”

  “What . . . rest?”

  “Just exploring some venues for a reception, that’s all. Before you protest, that’s all it is, just kicking tires so if it all comes together, we’re ready.”

  We.