Page 53 of Crossroads of Betrayal
“Okay,” Brooke said, her voice brisk and firm before the call disconnected.
Lincoln increased the speed then turned into the parking lot, driving to the closest spot to the line of golf carts kept in front of the lodge.
Zeke jumped down from the truck and sprinted toward the carts. “Do you have a key for any of these?” He called over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Jump in the front one.” Lincoln flipped through his keyring until he found what he was searching for. He slid behind the wheel just as his phone rang.
Irritation clawed at Zeke’s chest while he waited for Lincoln to answer the phone. The cart sat idling in the lot.
“Hey Brooke,” Lincoln. “Okay. Good idea.”
“What?” he mouthed, throwing his hands in the air.
Lincoln lifted a finger. “We don’t know for sure. Just a feeling. Yeah, I get that.”
Unable to hear the other end of the conversation, annoyance flared hot in Zeke’s gut. If Lincoln didn’t move soon, he’d jump out and run back to his place.
“We’ll meet you there.” Lincoln disconnected and tossed his phone in the little cup holder before motoring the cart toward the path that looped around to the back of the lodge.
“Well?” Zeke’s nerves were wound so tight, he barked out the question.
“Grace isn’t at your place, and nothing jumps out at Brooke as being alarming or points to anything happening. She sent Tucker to Joan’s once we got off the phone. No one’s answering the door. He can’t get into the cabin, but he looked in the windows and everything seems to be in order.”
“I’d bet money Grace tried to get to the crime scene. She’s too stubborn and antsy to sit still, even with an injury.” Zeke held on to the edge of the cart as Lincoln took a corner at top speed. “Joan might have been doing the same. Trying to work the case herself. Maybe the two are together, neither in trouble at all.”
Lincoln tightened his jaw. “Do you really believe that?”
“No,” Zeke said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She wouldn’t have hung up on Pen. I’m just trying to make myself feel better.”
Joan’s cabin came into view, Brooke and Tucker on the porch. Brooke raised a hand, a deep frown showcasing her unease.
Lincoln parked the cart and cut the engine.
“What’s the plan?” Zeke asked, jogging up the porch.
“I hate doing this, but I have the key. Let’s take a quick peek and make sure nothing’s out of the ordinary.”
Zeke nodded, grateful Brooke was willing to look in the other woman’s cabin. Privacy be damned, Grace was what was important right now.
He held his breath as Brooke unlocked the door then swung it open. He dipped his chin at Tucker then stepped inside. The lights were off. Everything appeared to be in the same place as the last time he’d been there. The suitcase Joan had been packing still laid by the bed. Two dirty mugs in the sink.
Brooke ran a hand over her long ponytail and blew out an unsteady breath. “I don’t know what I expected to find, but nothing here tells us anything. Maybe we should head up to the crime scene. We could stumble upon them on the way.”
Zeke strolled through the living room, studying every surface he passed. Damnit, Brooke was right. Nothing stood out. He pivoted toward the bedroom, and a beam of sunlight through the kitchen window caused something to glimmer on the table. He changed directions and fear crushed his chest. He erased the distance to the table and nabbed the pocketknife he’d owned since he was thirteen.
“What’s that?” Lincoln asked, crossing to stand behind him.
“My pocketknife.”
“How do you know it’s yours?”
He swallowed past the terror lodged in his throat and turned it over. “My dad gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday. He had it engraved. I take it with me everywhere.” His initials shone like a beacon, announcing the startling truth.
Joan had stolen his ring and his knife from his backpack. She’d tried to set him up for murder, and she’d fooled them all.
And now, she had Grace.
* * *
