They crested a green rise.
Only to be met by a glassy pond on the opposite bank.
“Bugger!” Beginning to think the golf course a less-than-inspired idea, he barely managed to escape the watery snare.
“The Audi is right behind us!” Edie informed him.
“These nine holes may prove our undoing. Brace for impact,” he ordered, sighting an ominous granite outcropping on the edge of the green.
To Caedmon’s surprise, his copilot did the exact opposite, releasing the clasp on her seat belt. Twisting in her seat, Edie snatched an overnight bag from the foot well.
He heard the metallic rrrhh of a zipper.
“Come on! Come on!” she muttered, frantically rummaging through the duffel. “There’s got to be something in here that I can—Yes!” She unfurled a folded bath towel. Then she unwound the passenger’s-side window and heaved her upper body through the opening.
“What in God’s name are you doing?”
His shouted question went unanswered. A half second later, Edie released the oversized terry-cloth towel.
Like the eagle and osprey that soared overhead, the snowy white towel glided through the air. Only to crash land directly onto the Audi’s windshield. Completely obscuring the driver’s vision.
The Audi zigged. Then zagged. A moment later, the luxury sedan cruised over a grassy incline. Airborne, the vehicle landed with what had to be a bone-jarring thud. Right into a sand trap.
Caedmon brought the Yaris to a full stop, he and Edie watching as the driver of the Audi, his upper body hampered by a white air bag, tried to extricate his vehicle from the pit. The powerful engine roared, but the Audi wouldn’t budge, rubber tires impotently spinning in the sand.
“Yeah, boy!” Edie whooped.
More relieved than exuberant, Caedmon wasted no time driving back toward the clubhouse. “That should buy us some time.”
Although not a large supply.
CHAPTER 22
Caedmon opened the passenger car door. “We mustn’t tarry.”
“I know. Just a quick sneak and peek to find Lovett’s research notes. Assuming we can figure out what aqua sanctus means.” As she exited the Yaris, Edie pulled the two sides of her jean jacket closer together. Though it was early spring, there was a chill in the air. “We left the golf course about an hour ago and I’m guessing it’ll take at least that long for Rico Suave to get towed out of the sand pit.”
“Meaning we have a very narrow window.”
Edie assessed the one-story 1950s cottage set some fifty yards from the main road. Situated in the midst of a towering pine grove, it looked ridiculously small. One menacing pine, heavy with sap, was bowed in a gravity-defying arch, it limbs brazenly brushing against the asphalt shingle roof. In addition to the cottage, there were a half dozen derelict trailers scattered across the grove.
“According to the chap at the local petrol station, this is Lovett’s rental cottage,” Caedmon remarked.
As they walked along the dirt lane that served as a driveway, Edie cast a sideways glance at the nearest trailer. A rickety wood deck had been added to the front of the turquoise-blue single-wide. Overtop of that hung a faded black-and-white-striped canvas awning. She knew without being told that the interior boasted threadbare wall-to-wall carpet, chipped Formica countertops, and jalousie windows that had long since rusted shut. She knew this because when she was six years old, she and her mother lived in a trailer park outside Orlando, Florida. Her mother, Melissa, manned a ticket booth at Disney World and would frequently leave Edie unattended, unable to afford a baby-sitter. Since her only companion was a thirteen-inch-screen TV, Edie knew all the plotlines and all the characters on the daytime dramas. Given the pendulum extremes of her own life, Sesame Street bored her to tears.
Unbidden, old memories suddenly flashed across her mind’s eye. Her mother, sprawled on the trailer floor, dead from a heroin overdose, the needle still stuck in her arm. The song “Sweet Melissa” playing on the tape recorder.
Don’t leave me, Mommy. Please don’t leave me.
On autopilot, Edie’s brain hopscotched to the next chapter. The two and a half years spent on the foster care merry-go-round. The fear. The loneliness. The unthinkable abuse.
Unnerved by the flashback, Edie shook her head, flinging aside the painful memories like a wet dog shaking himself dry.
“There is a distinct noir pastorale to the environs.” Caedmon’s observation made Edie think that she wasn’t the only one creeped out by the setting.
“Is it my imagination, or are we being watched?” She glanced at the turquoise trailer.
“An innate distrust of strangers is typical in a close-knit community.”
She sidled closer to Caedmon, well aware that distrustful people tended to keep a loaded hunting rifle at the ready. “What if the police show up? After all, Lovett was murdered yesterday.”
Caedmon took hold of her elbow, assisting her up the brick steps that led to a covered stoop. “According to Dr. Lovett’s recording, he told none of his acquaintances about the rental cottage. No doubt it will be a while before the police learn of its existence.” When they reached the stoop, he slid his hand into his jacket pocket and removed a slim leather case. “I thought a lock-picking kit might come in handy.”
“Who carries a lock-picking kit with them?” She held up her hand. “Don’t answer. I think the correct response is ‘an ex-spy.’” Several months ago, Caedmon had confessed to having once worked for MI5. Other than the one brief mention, he never spoke of his prior employment.
“You will thank me for my foresight when—” He stopped in midsentence.
“What’s the matter? You’ve got a ‘something stinks in Denmark’ look on your face.”
“The front door is ajar.”
Edie examined the outer edge of the door. Sure enough, it was open a fraction of an inch. Her stomach muscles instantly cramped. “Maybe Lovett left in a hurry, forgot to lock the door, and the wind blew it open.” Even as she said it, she knew that was an unlikely scenario.
Caedmon pushed the door all the way open. Frowning, he ran his hand over the doorframe. “The wood on the jamb is splintered. Someone used brute force to enter the cottage.”
“What do you want to bet that someone drives an expensive Audi sedan?” She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly worried that she’d miscalculated how much time it would take to extricate a vehicle from a sandpit. “We have no idea if Lovett’s killer is one step behind us or one step ahead of us.”
He put a staying arm across her chest, preventing her from entering. “Remain here while I investigate.”
Not about to contest the order, she wordlessly nodded.
A braver soul than most, Caedmon stepped inside. As he disappeared into the darkened depths, Edie, arms protectively crossed over her torso, repeatedly told herself that it would have been flat-out impossible for Lovett’s killer to have beaten them to Arcadia.
When Caedmon reappeared several moments later, Edie let out a pent-up breath, unaware that she’d even been holding it. “I take it the boogeyman has vacated the premises?”
“So it would seem. I turned on all the lights and checked all the closets. But be warned, the place has been ransacked, the intruder leaving a ghastly mess in his wake.”
Bracing for the worst, Edie stepped across the threshold. Whoever trashed Jason Lovett’s cottage did so with a wild abandon; chairs, lamps, and end tables were upended, books and magazines strewn helter-skelter. Seeing a red eight-pointed star painted on the living room wall, she gasped.