“Was he visiting someone here? Do you have a log -”
“What?” The kid seemed to be confused. “No, he wasn’t visiting anyone that I know of. He’s got a place here.”
T.J. straightened, and Rook couldn’t hide his surprise. “Where?” he asked.
“Sixth floor. It’s a corporate condo. He’s leased it for six months. I don’t remember the name of his company. It’s Virginia-based, but he’s not from here – works for them, or he owns it. I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“What’s his name?” T.J. asked.
The kid shrugged. “No idea.”
Rook nodded to the sketch. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure. It looks like him. I don’t know if I’d have recognized him if I’d just seen the sketch on TV, but I figured there’s a reason you guys brought it by.”
“Why didn’t the doorman who was here yesterday morning recognize him?”
“This guy’s not around a lot.”
“Call up to his condo,” Rook said. “Let’s see if he’s home.”
There was no answer, nor was there any answer at Benton’s condo. Rook and T.J. thanked the young doorman and stepped back outside. T.J. gave a low whistle. “We’re going to be busy this morning.”
Rook agreed. Time to get a couple of search warrants. Fast.
Thirty-One
Mackenzie walked into Gus Winter’s store, as she had on countless other bright, clear summer mornings. If she’d simply stayed in Cold Ridge and hadn’t decided to become a federal agent, would Harris Mayer now be alive? Had her decision to put in her application to become a deputy marshal somehow set events into motion that had culminated in his murder?
She didn’t blame herself, but she wondered about her role in the events of the past couple of weeks. She was a passive, unwitting participant, which she hated. She and Rook had met because of Harris and his manipulations, because of her friendship with Bernadette. In all likelihood, the attack on her and the hiker and the hydrangea and the assault knife – the anonymous calls – all tracked back to Harris and to his friendship with Bernadette.
A teenager Mackenzie knew from town – an avid mountain climber – was folding hiking shirts on the worn counter. “Is Gus here?” she asked.
“He’ll be in soon. Five, ten minutes, maybe.” The teen, blond and tanned, grinned suddenly, as if just recognizing her. “Hey, Ms. Stewart. I mean, Agent Stewart.”
“Just Mackenzie is fine.”
“I heard about that fight up at the lake. Man. That was close. Hope the police catch the guy.”
“Me, too.”
“Mackenzie!” Carine Winter North waved from near the back wall of the store. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
Mackenzie smiled at the sight of her friend. “I just got here.” She threaded her way through the racks of clothing and gear to Gus’s display of maps and hiking guides. “I only decided this morning at the last minute to come up.”
A week after her own close call, Carine seemed back to normal, little Harry snuggled onto one hip. “I’m looking for a map of Mount Desert Island. Tyler’s on his way home, and we’re thinking about getting out of here for a few days.” She smiled, color rising in her fair cheeks. “I think Maine might be nice. I haven’t been to the ocean yet this summer.”
“Did you tell him about last weekend?”
“No, but I should have. He read about it on the Internet. Can you believe it? Never occurred to me. My name wasn’t mentioned, but yours was. So he knew damn well I was in the middle of it all.” She abandoned the maps and shifted Harry to her other hip. “He says we can work on our communications skills while he’s here.” She grinned. “Sounds kind of good, doesn’t it?”
Mackenzie had known Tyler North as long as she had the Winters. He’d left Cold Ridge early for the air force, but kept coming back, hanging on to the house where his eccentric mother, a well-regarded artist, had raised him on her own. He’d seemed to know, on some level, that he and Carine were destined for each other and a life together in their hometown.
“Mackenzie?” Carine touched her friend’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Just drifting.”
“Did you come here alone?”
Mackenzie nodded, not sure how much detail she wanted to go into now. But eventually Carine would drag it all out of her – the creepy events of the past week, Harris’s murder. Rook.
“Your FBI guy – Andrew -”
“He’s still in Washington.”
Carine raised an eyebrow. “But you two are getting along?”
“Better.” Mackenzie smiled, thinking of Rook and his fixer-upper house within blocks of his father and brothers. A complicated man and yet totally straightforward. “I don’t know. I think Rook might want a woman more like his grandmother. Someone to bake cookies.”
“Have you told him you make a mean chocolate chip cookie?”