“Dat ain’t no lake, man.” Roark loaded up his burger with every condiment they’d brought out, then covered it in red pepper. “That barely qualifies as a pond. Judgin’ from where they found da grave, look like it wasn’t more than a mud puddle before the hurricane last fall.”
“Evie said it’s mostly runoff. There may be a small natural spring since she says it never completely dries up. You’re saying someone dug a grave in the mud?” Jax leaned against his Jag and sipped his beer, picturing the pond as a puddle. “So drowning is out of the picture.”
“Most definitely. Someone use one of them little landscape dozers to dig a grave. Da hurricane put ’em six foot under—for a while, leastways. Forensics don’t have cause of death yet.” Roark bit into his mile-high concoction and let the ketchup ooze down his fingers.
“Remind me never to invite you to dinner anywhere civilized.” Jax knew R&R had multiple degrees and the sophistication to sit at any table. He could insult their manners without a qualm.
He wanted to wander up the lane and talk to Evie’s cousin about Ariel, but he wasn’t certain he’d understand the answers. “I assume we’re narrowing the time of death to just before the hurricane hit. And the suspect has access to a landscape dozer, which could be almost any contractor in the whole damned Lakeland company.”
“Also assuming Evie is right and the bodies are the Posts,” Reuben reminded him. “You want a burger?”
“No, I just ate, thanks.” Sipping his beer, Jax paced. “Based on the necklace Loretta found, I think we’re safe in Evie’s prediction. Loretta said she talked to her parents right after she returned to school the first week of September.” Jax checked his phone calendar. “The Posts always called Loretta on Sundays. Last year, that would have been September 6th.”
“I looked it up and da hurricane hit here September 10. That gives four days when nobody heard from them because dey was supposed to be on a yacht. Cops checked all that back when they went missing.” Roark slugged back his beer.
Jax worked through his phone notes. “The Cayman Island account was set up September 9th. The yacht was discovered in the Caribbean on September 15th. Everyone assumed it turned over in the hurricane.” Jax did a quick web search. “Except the hurricane hit the Caymans on the 6th, the same day they were talking to Loretta. If they left right then, the Posts had to sailthroughthe hurricane to reach the Caymans by the 9th to set up an account. So they theoretically arrived safe, and the yacht turned over well after the hurricane had passed. They could have hit big swells in the aftermath on their return, I suppose, except their bodies are here.”
Roark swallowed and followed up with the next logical question. “But if we assume they buried in a pond, then who set up da account?”
“Don’t think you can set up a foreign account by internet.” Reuben loaded up his bread, lost in problem solving. “Somebody who knew they were already dead had to have gone down there in their yacht, posed as Post, set up the account, then ditched the yacht at sea.”
“Establishing a different time and place of death.” Roark nodded as he stabbed an onion to add to the mess in his hands. “And a killer most likely had da Posts identification.”
“So the Posts could have been in Afterthought on Sunday the 6thand got themselves killed pretty quickly. It would take time for their killer to drive to the coast, prep the yacht, and cruise down to the islands in a hurricane.” Jax didn’t own a yacht and didn’t know how long that would take. But Stephen had a yacht and would know. He shoved that thought aside for later. “Or more likely, someone was down there already, setting things up—in anticipation of killing them? And the yacht was just tossed out later.”
“Dat’s premeditated,” Roark said grimly. “I get having an argument, somet’ing happening, and they get offed. But luring them here to kill them and steal their money as well as da land? We’re looking at someone who’s done dis before.”
That’s why Jax had shoved all thoughts of Stephen to one side.
Jax’s parents had skidded off the road one stormy night, possibly right after presenting evidence that Stephen had been robbing Peter to pay Paul, as Evie put it—because he knew that’s what Ariel wanted to tell him. He’d already added up the numbers and checked the accounts.
Stephen Stockton had been running a Ponzi scheme for decades.
Twenty-three
After Evie had explainedto her family their theories about whatmayhave happened with the deeds to Witch Hill, and who might be involved in the fraud, the mood inside Psychic Solutions grew grim.
“So we’re trusting Jax to tell us the truth?” Pris twirled a curly strip of purple hair on her finger, indicating doubt. She’d arrived late, dusty and disheveled. “Ariel trusts him. I haven’t quite got a strong line on her character, but her thoughts are crystal clear.”
“Crystal peacemaker,” Evie murmured from her perch on the windowsill. She’d prefer spinning on the counter stool but Mavis was behind the counter, laying out her tarot deck.
“What in heck does that mean?” Gracie asked irritably. “Someone has killed two people and is stealing our land. That’s not sounding peaceful.”
“Well, there has to be war before anyone can make peace.” Iddy rubbed noses with the Siamese, then set him loose to prowl. “This sounds like war to me.”
“If someone killed poor John Post over his land, then they might go after Loretta as well. And possibly us.” Aunt Felicia studied the tarot spread her sister had laid out. “Swords, it’s almost all swords. That can’t be good.”
“Upright five.” Mavis tapped a lead card. “Winning at all cost. I played this with the mayor in mind. The Magician is in here, but he’s surrounded by hostile swords. Dangerous.”
Evie yanked at her curls and glared out the window, understanding some of Jax’s frustration. “We already knew all that. We’re simply merging what we know and feel about the people involved. And that’s notenough. We need concrete evidence.” If nothing else, Jax had taught her that.
Psy leaped up on the counter, knocking the cards askew. Mavis glared at the cat, who maneuvered the cover off her scrying ball. “It gives me headaches, cat. Why don’t you tell Iddy what you’ve seen?”
Psy sat and superciliously licked his paw.
“He’s agreeing with Evie.” Iddy removed the cat from the counter. “I never heard a cat actuallythinkabout anything except his next meal or sunspot or whatever creature comfort he prefers. But Psy seems to be understanding Evie.”
“Sweet,” Evie said with dejection. “The cat I feed likes me, news flash. Can you tell what the mayor is doing right now? Or the sheriff? We don’t even know for certain that the bodies belong to Loretta’s parents.” Although she was pretty certain they were. She just wanted solid facts before setting off on any woo-woo course. Not that she knew what action to take.