Falling Again Page 10

“Not that I don’t love my brother but you should know he has the reputation of leaving on the next plane for some assignment or other,” Amanda said. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt again.”

  “We’re just having a good time. I won’t get hurt,” Fiona said, not sure if she was trying to convince her two best friends—or herself. “He’s a great guy and he won’t leave Portland with me pissed off at him. I promise you.”

  “What I want to know is, how come he gets away with calling you Fee? No one else can,” Margo said.

  “I’ve never liked being called Fee. But when Nick does it...” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just different, somehow.”

  Margo hugged her again, then wiped at her eyes with a napkin. “Okay, let’s get these bruschetta out there. This is turning into a weepy chick session.” She headed for the living room with the appetizers and the other two women followed with plates of cheese and crackers.

  Kat was in her glory for another half hour going from Tony to her Uncle Nick to her daddy, begging for bites of cheese and bruschetta, getting plenty of attention, while Chihuly followed her scarfing up the crumbs she let fall to the floor. When Amanda announced dinner was imminent, Sam took Kat upstairs to bed after five minutes of dramatic goodnight kissing and hugging. The adults went into dinner on his return.

  After finishing their meal, Margo and Amanda went to the kitchen to make coffee. Everyone else went into the living room.

  “Fiona,” Sam said before she could settle on the couch, “while I have a chance to do this when my wife can’t see I’m turning a social evening into business, would you mind talking with me for a minute?” He gestured toward the sunroom where the family’s home office was located. Fiona looked at Nick with a “do you mind” expression. He shook his head; she followed Sam and, with the last of her wine from dinner, sank into the comfortable chair he pulled over to the desk for her.

  “I heard you had an interview with Preston Garland. Anything I should know?”

  “I’ll tell you what little I found out if you’ll tell me what you can. Off the record, of course.”

  When Sam nodded his head, she continued. “I had twenty minutes with Mr. Garland, who was quite proud of what he did. It was hard to hold my tongue when he was ranting on about how ‘those people’ are taking over and white men—he was specific about it being men—had to do something about it.”

  “Yeah, I was in on some of the questioning before he got out on bail. He made me want to throw up—or punch him in the nose.”

  “How the hell did he get out on bail, anyway? Isn’t someone who shot at the mayor someone who should be in jail until his trial?”

  “You and I may think so but Judge Grayson didn’t. Garland has ties to the community and no record of any kind so the good judge didn’t believe he was a flight risk. The DA argued against it but lost. When he asked for, and got, an exorbitant bail, the guy’s lawyer never even blinked. Garland made bail within an hour.”

  “When I talked to him, he seemed to be trying to get me to guess who was providing the money for him and the organization behind him,” she said. “I threw a couple names out—Duke Wellington, Sherman Bischler, and J. H. Ondsdorph—and he kinda smirked at me. Never could get him to confirm anything, but he seemed to want me to believe one or the other of them was involved somehow.”

  “He give you any indication of an insider in City Hall who was involved?”

  “He said not everyone in City Hall was happy with the way the mayor was running things. No names, just said someone on the inside was disgruntled. You’re still working from the theory someone on staff brought the gun into the building, right?”

  “Yeah, Garland will only say a friend gave it to him. He says he brought it in with him, but the images from the security camera show him going through the metal detector clean.” He crossed his leg over his knee and nodded so she’d go on.

  “One last thing from the interview. He said he was only sorry he failed, but he was sure the next person wouldn’t.”

  “I’ll pass it along to the mayor’s security detail, although I’m not sure they can get much more vigilant. The mayor’s already complaining about how intrusive they are. Nothing else?”

  “From the interview, no. And FYI, most of it will be in next week’s edition.” She waited to see if he objected. He didn’t so she went on, “I’m still working on the white power angle. The Southern Poverty Law Center says they don’t know anything about the White Knights group. They’re not on their list of hate groups in Oregon. They list ten in case you didn’t know.”

  “Now eleven. Just what we need, a new group of crazies to stir things up.”

  “Exactly.” She squirmed in her chair. “I’m sure there’re connections between the assassination attempt, the White Knights, and one of the three men. They all opposed Mayor Carter’s election and backed her opponent with big bucks.”

  “True of at least half, maybe more, of the business people in the city because she campaigned on raising business taxes.”

  “I know but the thing is, most of the business community started working with her after she was elected. These three haven’t.”

  “Still, you’ve got nothing—other than a smirk from our perp—to link any of them to the attempted assassination.”

  “And it’s making me nuts. There is one other thing, although I don’t know what it means. When Nick and I were on Mt. Hood we came on a huge cabin tucked away in a remote area. I was curious so I went and looked in the windows. Downstairs in this big room were all sorts of white power flags, including some with the White Knights logo. Nick took some photos of the place. I’m going to try to track down who owns it.”

  “Still nothing illegal or linked to either the assassination attempt or your three businessmen.”

  “I know. All I have are these little shreds of things. I feel like there’s something important I’ve already seen or heard, but it keeps slipping away from me.” She slid to the edge of her chair. “I think Nick has his digital camera with him. You want to see the shots he took? Maybe something will strike you.”

  “Sure, I’ll take anything at this point to give me some traction.”

  “So you don’t have anything for me?” She couldn’t sound disappointed because she hadn’t really thought he did.

  “Garland hinted he had ties to a group like the White Power Knights. But he did the same thing with us he did with you—lots of innuendo; no facts. We know he has a history of involvement in some odd groups.”

  “Like what?”

  “A defunct neo-Nazi group in Idaho, a white power group in Spokane, some anti-government group in Kansas. He seems to have spread himself out, as an acquaintance of mine used to say, all over hell and half of Georgia.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  “Walla Walla originally but he lived all over the place for about ten years. Then, a couple years ago, he moved back in with his parents out in Clackamas County.” He fiddled with a pen on the desk. “He doesn’t seem to have regular work, which is interesting, given the cost of his high-powered attorney who specializes in representing white power groups. Unfortunately there aren’t disclosure laws for who pays the mouthpiece so we don’t know who’s footing the bill.”

  “Anything else?” Fiona asked.

  “One thing. Add another name to your list of local business people with possible flakey agendas: Lyle Cochran. He’s been in the mayor’s face about renaming Broadway and a couple other issues, and he may have met with Garland’s lawyer when he was in town last week.”

  “I need fewer people to dig into, Sam, not more. But thanks.”

  The door to the sun room/office opened and Amanda stuck her head in. “I came to break this up and insist the two of you join us for dessert and coffee. Nicky and I are feeling deserted.”

  “Sorry, pretty lady. We’ll be out in a minute.”

  Amanda said, “You better be,” and withdrew.

  Sam stood up. “Keep me posted on
what you find. And be careful where you’re poking sticks. These people aren’t nice.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “One more thing. It doesn’t take a detective to see you’re pretty wrapped up in the guy you’re with. Fair warning, these St. Claires have a way of getting under your skin. Permanently.” He smiled at her. “I should know.”

  “I’m afraid you’re a few weeks too late.”

  “Thought that might be the case. Don’t know what they have but whatever it is it’s powerful.” His smile turned into a grin as he opened the sunroom door.

  Fiona beamed back at him. “Maybe there’s some Ohio genetic trait we Northwesterners are particularly susceptible to.”

  They were both laughing as they joined the other four in the living room. Margo had brought out her contribution to dinner, a plate of fruit and mini tarts, and Amanda was pouring coffee.

  Fiona settled herself next to Nick. “What were you and Sam so involved in?” Nick asked as he took her hand and kissed it.

  “Sam’s working the attempted assassination of the mayor and we were exchanging information. Sorry. I got carried away. It was rude. Forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive. Was he any help?”

  “Not sure either of us helped the other.” She ducked her head for a second or so before changing the subject. “Can you give Sam a peek at what we saw on the mountain yesterday? I think he should know about it.”

  Nick didn’t answer at first and she was afraid he was going to ask questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer just yet but finally he said, “Sure. The digital’s in the car. I wanted to show Amanda a couple of the Mt. Hood ones anyway.” He leaned in and said quietly enough only she could hear. “Then can we get out of here? I’ve had enough of sharing you for tonight.”

  Before Fiona could answer, Amanda said, “If my daughter was here, she’d tell you whiskering isn’t polite. Although, come to think of it, I guess we have established Nicky doesn’t whisker anymore.” She was standing behind them with a coffee pot.

  “Sorry, Amanda. No more whispering. I promise,” Fiona said, not anxious to resurrect the subject of her skin and Nick’s beard.

  Amanda offered the coffee. “Like some more?”

  Nick put his hand over his cup. “No, thanks, I think we’re about to leave.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” Amanda said with a smirk.

  “Before you go, can I take a look at those shots Fiona talked about?” Sam asked.

  “Sure. Let me go get them,” Nick said.

  He was only gone a few minutes and came back empty handed. “Not sure what this says about the state of public safety in Portland,” he said, looking at his brother-in-law. “Someone broke into my rental car. My camera and all the gear I had with it is gone.”

  • • •

  After Sam called in the report of the car prowl, Nick and Fiona returned to St. Johns. They hadn’t been home more than fifteen minutes when the phone rang. Nick swore and suggested they ignore it, but the metallic voice on caller ID said it was his sister so she answered it anyway.

  It wasn’t Amanda. It was Sam.

  “We have another complication. Preston Garland was found dead in his parents’ garage.”

  “Jesus. Dead?” She had to swallow hard to clear the knot in her throat before she could say anything else. “How? What happened?”

  “It’s all conveniently arranged to look like a suicide, complete with a computer generated note saying he didn’t want to embarrass his family any further by standing trial.”

  “Conveniently arranged? You don’t think it was a suicide?”

  “M.E. says it’s not likely. The marks on his neck were likely made by something like a wire ligature, not the rope he was found hanging from. And he says there was no way Garland could have hanged himself from the light fixture—the chair set up to look like the one he used was in the wrong place for him to have kicked it away.”

  “So you’ll be investigating it as a homicide?”

  “We’re going to let the story ride as a suicide but, off the record, we’re investigating it as a homicide, yeah.”

  “I understand. Thanks for letting me know, though. I might have some use for it one of these days when I get enough to write about.”

  “I’m not telling you this as a journalist, but as a friend.”

  “You want me to know these guys play for keeps.”

  “I have to wonder about the timing of Garland’s death. It comes damn close to when he talked to you. And I don’t think the break-in of Nick’s car was random. So, let me repeat: watch where you’re poking sticks.”

  “You’re serious? You think someone was specifically after Nick’s camera?”

  “Is it possible someone saw you up there on the mountain?”

  “I don’t think anyone saw us. Why?”

  “Someone might want to get rid of any evidence you have.”

  Fiona shivered. “We still have the evidence. Nick downloaded the images onto his computer before we went to your house.”

  “Shit. Keep quiet about it. No one should know. Not your boss, not anyone.”

  “We won’t tell anyone.”

  When she hung up, Nick, who’d been eavesdropping, asked, “So, what aren’t we supposed to tell?”

  If Sam was right, if Nick’s car had been broken into because he’d done a favor for her, it was time to tell Nick about what she was working on. At least, tell him enough so he could stay out of danger.

  “Let’s go sit down in the living room. There are a couple of things you should know about this story I’ve been digging into.”

  They settled on the couch and she started with, “I don’t normally talk about my stories before I have a handle on them but this one seems to have gotten more complicated than usual. And it involves you.”

  “Is this the same story you told me a bit about when we were in D.C.?”

  “Yes and no. One of the stories I was working on was about a bill introduced by one of our delegation. But more importantly, one or more of the local supporters of that legislation may be financing a new white supremacist group about to open up shop in Portland.”

  “A white supremacist group in the People’s Republic of Portland? The Northwest bastion of progressives?”

  “Most of Portland may be progressive now but it hasn’t always been, and Portland isn’t Oregon. The militia movement is active in more places than you’d guess and there are almost a dozen hate groups we know about.”

  “This is why you knew what you were looking at in the cabin.”

  “Exactly. The rumors about the White Power Knights of the West…”

  “That’s their name? Could they have picked a dumber one?”

  “Yeah, I agree but a dumb name doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. I’m sure there’s a connection between their sudden emergence and the election of the city’s first black mayor.”

  “You think they’re responsible for the attempt on the mayor’s life, don’t you?”

  “Yup. And for the death of the man arrested for the attempt. That’s what Sam’s call was about.”

  “What the hell? Your interview the other day?”

  “Yeah, it’s supposed to look like a suicide but it’s being investigated—quietly and without saying so—as a murder.”

  “Jesus, Fee, this puts a hell of a target on your back. That car coming out of nowhere the other night and almost hitting you—do you suppose…?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. And maybe the car prowl tonight wasn’t accidental. Sam thinks we were seen on the mountain and the break-in was to get your images of the cabin.”

  “Luckily I have them on my computer.”

  “Which gets us to what no one has to know. If anyone finds out you still have those images, you have a target on your back, too. Are you sure you want to be wandering around the mountains alone?”

  Chapter 12

  Fiona had gotten nasty emails and tweets, even threatening letters, in response to her articles befo
re but no one she’d ever interviewed had been murdered. And, if Nick was correct about the brush with the car on the Park Blocks, no one had ever tried to hurt her. Or stolen the belongings of someone she was involved with.

  What the hell had she set in motion with her digging?

  Nick stayed with her for a few nights, thank God, seeming to know she didn’t want to be alone. He ferried back and forth to his hotel room to pick up clean clothes and camera gear. Eventually, she more or less told him he could go back to the hotel room he was paying for but not using. She thought she saw disappointment in his eyes but when he immediately began packing his belongings, she decided it was just a trick of light.

  They saw each other for dinner every few days. Now that she’d let him in on the details of her story, she shared with him what rocks she was turning over looking for information. He reported his progress with police reports and insurance company forms from the car prowl, showed off the new gear he’d bought to replace the stolen equipment and updated her on the schedule for his work with his buddy Travis whose arrival was getting closer.

  Then one evening, as they were prepping dinner together in Fiona’s kitchen, he mentioned making plane reservations to leave Portland.

  Startled by the depth of her disappointment at the news, Fiona said the first thing she could think of to cover. “So soon? Isn’t Amanda upset you’re leaving after such a short visit?”

  “Amanda upset?” He smiled. “I think she’s okay with it. She’s pretty sure I’ll be back soon.”

  She tried to recover. “Of course, I knew you’d be leaving when the assignment was over. I guess I just didn’t think in terms of when.”

  “I’ve had the next two on my calendar for months. One’s a National Geographic photo week in New Mexico; the other’s an Alaska cruise. Both of them teaching classes on photography.”

  Not wanting to continue the conversation about his leaving any further, she went back to something she thought she could handle. “When did you see Amanda?”

  “This afternoon when I dropped by her studio.”

  “Do you always spend time with her in her studio when you come to town?”