The Waves Break Gray (The Raleigh Harmon mysteries Book 6) Read online

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Baer.” She handed him my card. “This lady was asking about Annicka.”

  He didn’t bother looking at my card. I offered my hand. “Raleigh Harmon.”

  He shook, still not looking at my card. His grip was callused and powerful. “Preston Baer,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m working for the Engels. Someone mentioned that Annicka worked here.” Culliton, that’s who. “And I heard you have an elephant—Buster, is it?”

  Preston Baer finally glanced at my card, barely, then tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Alma, please go help Mary Catherine.”

  “Yes, Mr. Baer.”

  He grabbed the chair’s wheels, pivoting expertly.

  “Follow me,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to Buster.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Preston Baer led me to the back of the retail space where a set of plastic flap doors opened into a warehouse. The chilled air felt icy on my skin. Forklifts crossed the concrete floor, beeping toward a loading dock where white panel trucks waited. The trucks were decorated with a colorful fruit label that read: “BAER NAKED ORGANIC ORCHARDS: We only grow the best.”

  Baer pushed his wheelchair toward a wooden ramp that led down the loading dock.

  “I have a question,” he said, braking down the ramp to the paved loading area. “You don’t have to answer.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know about Engels’ financial situation.”

  Across the way, the apple orchards stretched up the golden autumn hills, but a small valley spread below them. Wooden ramps crisscrossed the land, connecting several large barns.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.

  “Your services must be cost a pretty penny. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  He lifted one hand from a wheel and pointed me toward the wooden barns. “I’d like you to give me your bill,” he said.

  “I’m sorry but—”

  “But nothing. The Engels don’t need to know.” He glanced at me. His eyes were pale gray and hard as river rock. “They’re proud people, they won’t take charity, even if they need it. You strike me as a clever girl. I’m sure you can find a way to explain coverage of your services. Just don’t take their money. I’ll pay the bill.”

  “That’s very generous, but Johann already offered free hotel rooms. In exchange for services.”

  “Ah.” Baer nodded, pushing down the wooden walkway to the first barn. “He’ll expect you to take him up on that. But you can still send me the bill.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Come, come, Miss Harmon.” He stopped, pivoting the chair to face me. “Your work must be quite expensive.”

  I said nothing.

  “Consider it this way,” he continued. “If I am paying you—beyond free hotel stays—I will feel more certain you’re giving the matter your complete attention.”

  “I don’t give anything else.”

  He held my gaze a long moment. I willed myself not to blink.

  “Yes.” He looked away, with a tense smile. “But let’s make your work official, shall we? That girl never should’ve died that way.”

  His chair rolled across the weathered wood with a sound like distant thunder. We passed the first barn, and I glanced inside. More goats. More Shetland ponies, now trotting in launch circles. I saw teenage boys and girls working with the animals, raking sawdust, hauling buckets. We moved past that to the second barn.

  I stopped.

  A lion cub paced inside a large cage. Across from that, a chimpanzee swung from a wooden dowel, chattering and screeching. Between the cages, a blond woman wearing all-black strolled with a huge leopard that wore some kind of leash. He was longer than the woman was tall and could easily kill her with a quick swipe of his giant paws.

  Baer had continued. When he realized I’d stopped, he pivoted the chair to find me.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve never seen animals like that.”

  “Come, then.” He gave the chair’s wheels a hard push. The ramps between the barns each had another ramp that took him into the barn about ten feet. After that it was sawdust. Baer stopped at the edge and called out. “Susan.”

  The woman in black turned. “Yes, Pres?”

  “Are you done feeding?”

  “Almost. Leo’s still not well.” She had a thick European accent. The word well sounded like vell. “I’ve tried everything.”

  “Perhaps he needs a challenge.” Baer tilted his head toward me. “Can she try?”

  The woman named Susan could’ve passed for Alma’s mother. Same blond hair, same cornflower-blue eyes, same stunningly pretty features. But unlike Alma, this woman wasn’t guileless. I sensed something calculating about her, as if she was a cat herself.

  “Please.” She walked the leopard to an empty cage and opened its large gate. Without a command, the leopard walked inside. The woman closed the gate and unclipped the leash. The animal almost collapsed to the sawdust floor, as if standing took too much effort.

  She motioned me forward. I crept toward the cage, my gaze FBI-tracking the beast inside. I wanted to turn, run away. But I needed Baer’s help and he was watching. Was this some kind of a test? I clenched my jaw and stepped to the bars … right behind Susan, using her as a flimsy shield.

  “Put these on.” She casually turned and handed me a pair of black silicone gloves. Then she lifted a deep white bucket. “Take a piece. Give it to him.”

  Inside the bucket, chunks of raw meat swam in a pond of blood. The cloying scent of iron rose, filling my nose. I gagged.

  “He won’t hurt you,” she said.

  I still considered backing away, but when I glanced at the leopard, it was staring at me with those kohl-lined eyes. His breathing was labored.

  “He can’t hurt you.” Susan motioned me to get closer. “He is too sick. Just hold the meat for him.”

  “You mean, throw it.”

  She laughed, a deep throaty laugh. “But the meat will get dirty and Leo will be sad.”

  I reached into the bucket. The metallic odor touched the back of my throat. The meat felt spongy with blood.

  “Good,” Susan said. “Now offer it to Leo.”

  The leopard got up, with effort, and paced toward me, his front paws crossing over each other like a model on a catwalk. He lowered his head, the gold-and-black fur spiking over his shoulders.

  But he looked weak.

  “Hey, Leo.” I held out the meat and willed myself not to think about how much I prefer dogs to cats. Leo was staring at me like he could read my mind. “Here ya go.”

  He opened his mouth, slow as a yawn, and sank yellow fangs into meat. Blood dribbled down his whiskery chin. I almost puked.

  “Look how sweet he is,” Susan cooed. “Such a good kitty.”

  I slowly, slowly inched backward.

  “Good boy,” Susan continued to purr. He sank to the ground and licked the meat. But he didn’t eat it. Susan turned to me. “He has leukemia.”

  “Oh.” I looked at Leo. “I’m sorry.”

  Now that I knew how ill he really was, I had to admit, he tugged at my heart. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “He is not alone.” Susan gestured to the other cages. “They are all sick. People send them. Because Pres has such a big heart.”

  “No, I don’t.” Preston Baer had stayed at the edge of the barn, elbows on the armrests of his chair. His hands were clasped tightly across his lap, as if tense about something. Maybe me feeding his leopard.

  Susan and I walked through the sawdust to Baer. He reached out, clasping her hand.

  “Susan, this is Raleigh Harmon. She’s working for the Engels family, investigating what happened to Annicka.”

  Susan gave the smallest gasp.

  “Is something wrong?” I tried to read her expression. Surprise? Or shock? I couldn’t be sure.

  “Annicka was wonderful,” she said, the w once more becoming a v. “She was the best with the ani
mals. Better than me.”

  “So she worked here … how long?”

  “Several years,” Baer replied. “Until she left for college. We still haven’t found anyone as good, especially with the animals who are …” He shook his head. “The animals who are close to death.”

  “Annicka would’ve been a veterinarian,” Susan said.

  I nodded, thinking of those YouTube videos on her computer. They were all about caring for exotic animals. Now it made sense. “Her family seems to think her boyfriend was involved in her murder.”

  The look that passed between them was quick.

  “Mason, you mean,” Baer said.

  “Yes. Mason Leming,” I clarified. “You know him?”

  “He works here,” Baer said. Then, seeing my surprise, he added, “No one told you that?”

  I struggled to recover. “Her family didn’t mention it.”

  “Well, considering what’s happened to them, they can’t be expected to remember everything.” He glanced at Susan. “We like Mason.”

  “You like Mason,” she said, her accent deepening. “I can’t stand that boy.”

  She was angry. I watched her wrap the leash into a tight coil around her arm. With her sleek build, the smooth blond hair, she was like a German panther. Only she wasn’t showing Baer any deference or subservience. I wondered about their relationship. And how much they knew.

  “How long has Mason been working here?” I asked.

  “Years,” Susan said, as if his time was a personal burden.

  “Four years,” Baer added, softly. “He’s a good worker.”

  “Do you think he was involved in her death?” I asked.

  There was a loaded silence.

  “Yes,” Susan said. “I do.”

  She looked at Baer. His face revealed no emotion. But Susan seemed to detect something there.

  “I’m sorry, Pres,” she said, “but I do think he’s involved. So I’ve said it. There. I think Mason was involved.”

  Baer’s face still looked blank to me.

  “How do you think he’s involved?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, exactly. But he’s acting strange.” Once more she looked at Baer.

  He turned to me.

  “Today’s your lucky day,” he said. “When you meet Buster, you’ll meet Mason, too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  In the next barn, the elephant was trotting in a circle of sawdust. Chubby, jiggly, tooting his trunk. A baby elephant.

  And in the center of the ring, a young guy with longish brown hair called out orders. Buster tooted his trunk every time.

  “Mason.” Baer called from the wooden boardwalk. “Mason!”

  Mason Leming jumped. The same way Alma had. He was narrowly built, hips so thin Buster could’ve wrapped around his trunk around the guy’s waist and snapped him like a dry peanut shell.

  “I’d like to speak with you,” Baer said.

  Mason told Buster to stop. The baby elephant gave an ear-splitting blast from his trunk, then followed up with another blast when Mason leashed him to an iron ring spiked into the sawdust.

  Mason walked toward us but didn’t look up.

  “Buster’s still being difficult?” Baer asked.

  “He got that stomach bug and he misses …” Mason looked at me. His eyes were a muddy hazel, like green leaves mixed with soil.

  “This is Raleigh Harmon,” Baer said. “The Engels hired her.”

  I saw some kind of recognition in his hazel eyes. Fear.

  No.

  Terror.

  “She has some questions for you.”

  “Alright.” His voice shook. “But I’m kinda busy.”

  Baer pivoted his wheelchair, facing me and ignoring Mason. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “No, thank you.” He wheeled down the wooden path, out of the barn.

  Buster gave another blast.

  But Mason’s milky gaze stayed on his retreating boss. I’ve met so many guilty people, both as an agent and as a geologist testifying in court. Some of them could lie about their crimes without one hiccup of conscience. But I’d also interviewed totally innocent people who were so terrified, fear made them seem guilty. Both types had taught me to go for the jugular.

  “Did you kill her?” I asked.

  “What—?” He staggered back, stumbling in the sawdust. “What?”

  “Did you kill Annicka?”

  “I can’t believe you’d—”

  “Nobody’s asked you that question?”

  “I already told the sheriff, he knows what I said.”

  “What you said might not be the truth.” I paused, giving him a moment. “Did you kill her.”

  “I loved her.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. Did you kill Annicka?”

  “No! How many times do you want me to say it? I didn’t kill Annicka—are you satisfied?”

  “No. Why didn’t you say it the first time I asked?”

  “You—you come in here—with my boss—and you’re working with her family. You don’t even say hello. Just—did you kill her?!”

  His hands shook. When he realized I was seeing that, he made two fists and plunged his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Sawdust clung to the denim. The knees were brown with dirt.

  “Let’s start over,” I said. “Was Annicka working with Buster?”

  He glanced back at the elephant. Buster—gray as granite—grabbed the hasp of a bucket with his trunk and turned it upside down. When he saw the bucket was empty, he threw it, and gave another frustrated blast.

  Mason watched the bucket bounce and tumble toward us. “He never did this stuff when she was here.”

  “He only acts up with you?”

  He stared at the ground and shook his head. “What’s with you?”

  “I don’t know, Mason, what’s with you? Don’t you want to know who killed Annicka?”

  “Yes!”

  “Do you know who killed her?”

  “No!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What is your problem? If I knew who killed her, would I be standing here?”

  “I don’t know. You keep answering my questions with another question.”

  “Are you—” He stopped, as if realizing it was another question. “You’re some kinda private eye. Like, a detective.”

  “I’m a forensic geologist.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  I explained the whole concept. How minerals leave evidence in places people never dream of finding it. “You’d be amazed. People have been caught just from the dirt in their shoes. Or from hair and fibers left at the crime scene. Even hair from elephants.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “So let’s say elephant hair showed up on Annicka’s body. How would you—theoretically, of course—explain the animal hair being there?”

  Fear slid over his narrow face. “She worked with Buster.”

  “According to your boss she hasn’t worked here since she left for college. That would be, what, August? Don’t you think it would be highly unusual for something as fine as elephant hairs to still be on a person’s clothing, months later?”

  “You want me to say it again?” His eyes flared. “I did not kill her.”

  “Fritz thinks you did.”

  “Fritz? Fritz is a freak.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “He’s a loser. He’s a loser who hates people who know he’s a loser.”

  “Mason, even you can do better than that.”

  “His own sister didn’t like him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s creepy. He’s always hanging around that hotel but does almost nothing the whole time.”

  “Yeah, that’s still not good enough.”

  “Okay. He assaulted one of the maids. Yeah, that’s right.” Mason looked triumphant. “That pervert locked one of their maids in a hotel room
and tried to rape her. Is that enough for you?”

  The cold sensation rippled down my back. “When was that?”

  “I don’t know, like, four or five years ago.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Mrs. Engels paid off the maid. To keep her quiet. Mommy’s boy can do no wrong.”

  “Mrs. Engels paid her off, or Mr. Engels?”

  “I never asked.” He ran hand through his hair. Switching the focus to Fritz seemed to calm him down. “All I know is that Johann does whatever Helen says. She’s the boss. The only time he stood up to her was to protect Annicka.”

  “Protect her, how?”

  He stared down at the sawdust. Wood shavings clung to his black boots. They looked a lot like the boots I found in Annicka’s bathroom. Boots whose soles were full of mud, hay. Elephant hair.

  “Helen wasn’t very nice to Annicka. She always favored Fritz. That’s why Annicka worked here instead of the hotel.”

  His tone was sad, weighted. As if the memory pulled him down.

  “Buster’s sick?” I asked.

  “Stomach.” Mason kept his head down. “Some kinda bacteria, I don’t know. It’s been going on since his mother died.”

  “His mother died?”

  “Last summer. He’s an orphan. Mr. Baer took him in, trying to get him healthy.”

  I thought of what Susan the cat woman said, about Annicka’s talent with animals, especially the sick ones. And her email to Mason the day before she died. Kiss Buster for me.

  “Mason, level with me.”

  He looked up. On such a narrow face, the tears looked enormous. “Mr. Baer didn’t want her coming back after she left for college. He wanted Buster to get attached to somebody else. Because Annicka couldn’t be here every day. And Buster wouldn’t obey anyone else.”

  “So?”

  “So I snuck her in here.” He looked over at the elephant stomping out a circle in the sawdust. “I thought that was better. She missed him. He was calm with her. But now it’s worse. It’s like he knows—” He stopped.

  I went back to the jugular.

  “I heard she didn’t want to marry you.”

  “Oh my God!” The tears were back. “Yeah, she didn’t want to marry me. You know why? Because she wanted to wait until I could afford it. Nobody told you that part, huh?”