Echoes of the Smuggler’s Hoard
This is a Dalton Drill murder mystery short story parody.
One
The rustic wooden sign for Whispering White Pines loomed into view as Dalton steered their cherry red Mustang up the winding gravel road.
“This place looks straight out of a Hallmark card,” Iggy said, craning his neck to take in the quaint log cabins and vibrant flower beds. “Can’t believe there was a murder here. So much for peace and tranquility.”
Dalton grunted in agreement, his keen eyes scanning their surroundings. The serene mountain lodge was an unlikely setting for the mysterious death they were summoned to investigate.
As they pulled up to the main entrance, a woman emerged from the building. She was impeccably dressed in a pale blue shift dress and designer sunglasses, her sleek auburn hair gleaming in the sun. This had to be Veronica Portence.
“You must be the private investigators I contacted,” she said in a clipped, polished tone. “I’m Veronica Portence.”
“Dalton Drill. This is my associate, Iggy Diaz.” Dalton surveyed her with a neutral expression, though inwardly he was bemused by her conspicuous sophistication amidst the rustic scenery.
Veronica’s smile faltered at their arrival, a flicker of consternation in her gaze. “I must confess, I was expecting someone a little less…”
“Rugged?” Iggy supplied with a roguish grin. “We get that a lot, Ms. Portence. But rest assured, we’re pros at solving all sorts of mysteries, no matter how-“
“-Unexpected the circumstances,” Dalton finished. He held her gaze, watching as she quickly rearranged her features into a gracious smile.
“Of course,” she said. “Please, come inside. We have much to discuss.”
Veronica led them into a cozy sitting room, offering them seats by a stone fireplace. “Would you like some tea?”
“No thanks,” Dalton said. “Why don’t you tell us about this murder you claim to have witnessed?”
Veronica paused, weighing her words. “I didn’t actually witness the murder itself. But I have reason to believe the owner’s death was not due to natural causes.”
“Go on,” Dalton said. His steady, probing tone brooked no evasion.
She took a deep breath. “Two nights ago, I overheard a heated argument between the owner and an unknown man. The next morning, the owner was found dead in her room.” Veronica shook her head. “At first the police ruled it a heart attack, but I’m convinced it was murder. The timing is too coincidental.”
Dalton studied her carefully. She seemed genuinely convinced of foul play. But her request for discreet private investigators suggested she had reasons for avoiding the police. He would have to keep close tabs on the enigmatic Ms. Portence. This case was turning out to be even more complicated than it appeared.
Dalton nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “Take us to the crime scene. We’ll need to examine it ourselves.”
Veronica led them upstairs to the owner’s private quarters. The spacious suite was tastefully decorated in earthen tones, centered around a large canopied bed.
Iggy let out a low whistle. “Some digs. No wonder someone wanted this place bad enough to kill for it.”
Dalton ignored his partner’s flippant remark, homing in on a sturdy oak desk in the corner. “There. Look at that.” A hidden safe was embedded in the wall behind the desk, camouflaged to blend in with the wood paneling.
“Nice catch,” Iggy said. “Totally missed that.”
Dalton tried the safe handle, but it was securely locked. “We’ll need the combination or a locksmith to crack this baby open.”
“The police didn’t find anything useful inside,” Veronica said. “Just some old papers and knickknacks.”
“We’ll see about that.” Dalton’s tone made it clear the subject was not up for debate. Veronica pressed her lips together but said nothing.
After examining the rest of the suite, they headed downstairs to mingle with the guests and staff. Dalton kept the conversations light and casual, watching for subtle cues and reactions. Most seemed genuinely shocked by the owner’s sudden death. But a few tidbits of useful information surfaced.
A real estate mogul had been pressuring the owner to sell the property. And the owner’s childhood best friend, now a rival B&B owner, harbored a long-standing grudge.
Iggy sidled up to Dalton as a portly man droned on about his prize rose garden. “Lots of motives flying around. This case gets more interesting by the minute.”
“And more complex,” Dalton said grimly. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it. We always do.” His steely resolve was a promise – and a warning. The killer had made a grave mistake in summoning the formidable Dalton Drill. Justice was coming, as swift and unstoppable as the tide.
The next morning, Dalton and Iggy paid a visit to Bennett Hargrove at his lavish vacation home. Hargrove greeted them at the door, all charm and smiles. “Please, come in. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
His practiced cordiality set Dalton’s teeth on edge. “We understand you’ve been trying to buy Whispering White Pines Lodge. Care to tell us about that?”
Hargrove’s smile didn’t waver. “I have an interest in expanding my resort empire. Whispering White Pines Pines would make a fine addition. But I can assure you, I had nothing to do with Millie’s death.”
“So you admit you were pressuring her to sell.” Dalton folded his arms, staring the other man down.
“Pressuring is too strong a word. I made an offer, which she refused. That’s the extent of our dealings.” Hargrove shrugged. “I’m a businessman. I don’t resort to violence to get what I want.”
“Is that so?” Iggy asked. “Because some people will do anything for money and power.”
Hargrove’s smile tightened, the first crack in his polished facade. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Just keeping an open mind,” Iggy said brightly. “Since you had motive and opportunity.”
“This is outrageous.” Hargrove’s cordial mask slipped further, revealing a glimpse of the ruthless tycoon beneath. “I won’t stand here and be insulted. Good day, gentlemen.”
He strode inside, slamming the door in their faces. Dalton and Iggy exchanged a look. They had clearly hit a nerve.
Dalton and Iggy spent the rest of the afternoon combing through Millie’s personal effects, searching for clues. In a locked drawer of her desk, they found a stack of letters from a lawyer regarding unpaid taxes amounting to over fifty grand.
“Well, well,” Iggy said. “Looks like Millie had money troubles she didn’t want anyone to know about. Enough to kill for?”
“Possibly.” Dalton studied the letters, deep in thought. “This gives Hargrove and Lily motive, and possibly others we haven’t considered yet.”
As night fell, they headed to their room, exhausted but no closer to solving the mystery. Dalton unlocked the door—and stopped short. Veronica Portence sprang away from the desk, clutching a sheaf of papers.
“Oh! I didn’t mean to snoop, I was just looking for extra blankets,” she said, laughing nervously.
Dalton stared at her. He noticed the papers were pages from Millie’s appointment book. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
Veronica bit her lip, her composure crumbling. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to trust, so I thought I’d try to find clues myself.” She wrung her hands, shrinking under their scrutiny. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was going to tell you everything, I promise!”
“Really.” Iggy arched a brow. “Or did you have your own motives for sticking your nose in our investigation?”
Two
The morning sun glinted off the still blue waters of Whispering White Pines Lake as Dalton and Iggy approached Bennett Hargrove. He was immersed in studying architectural plans, a half-eaten omelette congealing on his plate.
“Mr. Hargrove, we have a few more questions.” Dalton’s gruff tone startled the developer from his reverie.
Bennett flashed a practiced smile, folding the blueprints with oily fingers. “Of course, gentlemen, fire away. Though I must say, this constant suspicion is growing rather tiresome.”
The man’s charm seemed too smooth, like cheap polyester. “Just a few loose ends we need to tie up. Now, why exactly are you so interested in this property? And don’t give us that rubbish about a ‘fair deal’ again.”
“I simply see potential, that’s all,” Bennett shrugged, gaze sliding to the blueprint’s edge peeking from his pocket. “A charming lodge in a picturesque setting. Prime real estate for the right development.”
Dalton said, “How very convenient, with the owner refusing to sell. Until she turned up dead.”
Bennett’s oily composure cracked for a split second, a flash of anger marring his features. But he recovered swiftly, plastering on an offended frown. “How dare you. I had nothing to do with that dreadful incident.”
“Did you now? Because from where we’re standing, you seem to have an awful lot riding on this property. Enough to do anything to get your hands on it.” Iggy said.
Silence hung in the air as Bennett and the detectives locked gazes. Dalton jerked his chin at the lodge. “Let’s go. We have more questions for your staff.”
They left Bennett sputtering on the deck. But unease gnawed at the detectives, his interest in the property too convenient to dismiss.
Entering the lodge, they were met with averted gazes and hushed whispers. The staff busied themselves with menial tasks, movements stiff and rushed.
“They’re hiding something,” Iggy muttered. Dalton nodded. His gaze landed on a young waitress, her hands trembling as she arranged cutlery.
He approached her with a gentle smile. “There’s no need to be afraid. We only want to ask you a few questions.”
She peeked up at him, eyes glassy with fear. “About Mr. Hargrove?” Her voice wavered. “I’d rather not say anything. He can be quite unpleasant when upset.”
“We understand he’s been rather persistent about buying this place,” Iggy said. “Has he threatened you or other staff in any way?”
Her lower lip trembled as she looked between them. “He warned us not to interfere. Said if we didn’t convince the owner to sell, he’d make sure none of us would work in this town again.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “We didn’t want to upset him, but we couldn’t betray the owner either. Now she’s…” A choked sob escaped her.
Dalton squeezed her shoulder gently. “You did the right thing. No one deserves to be treated that way.”
Dalton and Iggy found Lillian in the gardens, her shears slicing through rose stems with vicious snaps. “Ms. Carmichael, we have a few more questions about your relationship with the victim.”
Lillian whirled around, shears clutched in her gloved hands. “I’ve already told you I want nothing to do with that woman or her wretched family. Now leave me be!”
“We understand you had a falling out,” Iggy said mildly. “Care to tell us what it was about?”
“That’s none of your business.” Lillian turned back to her roses, attacking another stem.
“Withholding information from a murder investigation is illegal, Ms. Carmichael. I suggest you cooperate, unless you have something to hide.”
Lillian scoffed. “As if I had anything to do with that harpy’s death. She got what she deserved, if you ask me.”
“And who might think she deserved such a fate?” Dalton asked.
Lillian paled, shears frozen in mid-air. “No one. I didn’t mean that.”
“We’d like to search your quarters, if you don’t mind,” Iggy said. “To eliminate you from our suspect list.”
“I do mind.” Lillian drew herself up. “You have no right to harass me or invade my privacy. Now leave, or I’ll set my dog on you!”
They exchanged a glance, noticing her sudden defensiveness.
“Very well,” Dalton said. “But we will be keeping an eye on you.”
Lillian snorted, turning away in a swish of skirts. Dalton and Iggy left her to her roses. Lillian Carmichael was hiding something, and they were determined to find out what.
Feeling dejected but undeterred, they retreat to the lodge’s quaint library to go over the owner’s personal documents.
The library was dim and cozy, sunlight filtering through tall windows draped in faded velvet curtains. Rows of heavy oak bookshelves reached up to a vaulted ceiling, stuffed with leather-bound volumes that smelled of dust and secrets.
Dalton ran a finger along the spines, detecting a layer of grime. “No one’s read these in years. Perfect place to stash financial records you don’t want anyone to find.”
“Over here!” Iggy called from a mahogany desk in the corner. “Found a locked drawer. Give me a hand with this.”
Dalton grabbed one end of the drawer, pulling with Iggy until it slid open with a groan. “Jackpot.”
Inside were stacks of letters bound in red tape, denoting unpaid bills and threatening notices of foreclosure. Dalton flipped through them. “She was in serious debt. And look – the payments suddenly stopped six months ago.”
“Around the time Bennett Hargrove started visiting the lodge,” Iggy said grimly. “He must have paid them off to get her to sell, but she refused.”
“So he decided to speed things up.” Dalton stared into the flickering fireplace. The victim may have been unlikable, but no one deserved to die for refusing to give up their own property. “We need to find Hargrove. Now.”
They ponder over the documents, the faded wallpaper and the smell of old books enveloping them.
Late in the evening, they decide to confront Bennett with their new information, but he’s nowhere to be found. They learn from a staff member that Bennett often takes night walks around the property.
The chill night air carried the sharp scent of pine as Dalton and Iggy made their way along the winding forest trail. An owl hooted softly in the distance, its call echoing through the trees.
“There.” Iggy pointed at a flickering light in the brush up ahead. They crept closer until they could make out a sturdy figure sitting on a log, staring into the flames of a small campfire.
“Mr. Hargrove.” Dalton stepped into the firelight, hands raised. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
Hargrove started, eyes widening as he took in their grim expressions. “I don’t know anything else about the murder,” he said hastily. “I already told you everything I know.”
“You lied.” Iggy said, pulling out a sheaf of letters. “We found records of the victim’s debts. Debts you paid to get her to sell the lodge. She refused, so you killed her.”
Hargrove paled but set his jaw. “That’s ridiculous. I wanted to buy the property, yes, but I would never resort to murder.”
“Really?” Dalton grabbed Hargrove’s arm. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ll do whatever it takes to get what you want. Who cares if an old woman has to die for your precious resort expansion?”
Hargrove wrenched out of his grip. “I didn’t kill her! But I won’t lose any sleep knowing she’s gone either. That lodge should have been mine years ago if she wasn’t so stubborn. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.”
He stormed off into the night, leaving Dalton and Iggy staring after him. “Well,” Iggy said. “That went about as well as expected.”
Dalton sighed, weariness seeping into his bones. The case had turned into a twisted knot of secrets and lies, and the killer was still out there.
Three
Dalton sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gazed at the cluttered desk. Bank statements were strewn about haphazardly, scribbled notes peeking out from underneath.
This case was turning into a maze with too many dead ends.
“There’s got to be something we’re missing,” Iggy said, shuffling through the papers. “The owner was too meticulous to leave loose ends.”
Dalton nodded, his gaze wandering to an antique globe in the corner. “We need to look at this from a new angle.”
His eyes landed on a stack of receipts, and he grabbed them, scanning the list of transactions. One name jumped out, repeating on every receipt.
“Hargrove,” he said. “Bennett Hargrove. He’s been paying the owner regularly for the past few months.”
Iggy’s eyes lit up as he peered at the receipts. “Visits to the lodge. Dozens of them.” He let out a low whistle. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves another suspect.”
“The plot thickens,” Dalton said wryly. Hargrove’s involvement only added to the madness.
Dalton leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. They had a long road ahead, navigating this maze to find the truth. But he had a gut feeling they were getting closer. The pieces were starting to come together, even if it seemed utterly madcap at times.
He glanced at Iggy, who was shuffling through the papers again, muttering to himself. They made quite the team. Two misfits, stumbling through each farcical case.
Dalton stood, stretching his arms with a yawn. “Time for a change of scenery. My eyes are blurring from all these receipts.”
Iggy glanced up. “Not a bad idea. We’ve been cooped up in here for hours.” He pushed back from the desk, papers crinkling under his elbows.
They wandered through the lodge’s winding hallways, antique floorboards creaking under their feet. The musty air was heavy with memories, remnants of happier times. Now the passages were empty.
Dalton paused outside a heavy oak door. “Wonder what’s in there.” He twisted the brass knob, hinges groaning in protest.
The room was dim, dust motes drifting through shafts of light from a high window. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Dalton’s gaze snagged on an antique cabinet in the corner.
“There. Look.” He crossed the room in three strides, flinging open the cabinet doors. Tucked inside was a vintage wooden box, coated in years of grime.
Iggy let out a low whistle. “Hidden treasure?”
Dalton grabbed the box, brushing away cobwebs with a grimace. “Only one way to find out.”
They carried it over to a table, prying off the lid with care. Inside was a stack of letters, bound with faded ribbon. Dalton picked up the top envelope, turning it over in his hands.
The crisp script read: To my dearest Lillian.
“Well, well,” Iggy said softly.
Dalton sank into one of the room’s worn leather armchairs, passing letters to Iggy. “Start reading. This should prove interesting.”
Iggy settled into the chair opposite, rifling through the correspondence. A few minutes passed in silence before he glanced up.
“These letters,” he said. “They’re love letters. Heartfelt apologies, longing to mend a broken friendship.” He waved one envelope, postmarked decades ago. “All addressed to Lillian Carmichael.”
Dalton leaned forward, steepling his fingers once more. “So it seems dear Lillian had a secret admirer after all. One with a flair for romance.”
“And a regret that spanned decades,” Iggy added. He shook his head, eyes scanning the faded pages. “This contradicts everything we know about Lillian’s grudge against the owner.”
“Indeed.” Dalton stared into the fireplace.
But he had a gut feeling the truth was close at hand. Hidden within these letters, lost to time but found once more, was a key to unlocking the secrets of Whispering White Pines.
Dalton sank into the worn armchair, passing a hand over his eyes. The letters contradicted everything they knew. Muddying the waters.
He hated mysteries. Hated not knowing, the chasing of ghosts. It reminded him too much of past failures, missions gone awry and lives lost.
“You look troubled, old friend.” Iggy said.
Dalton grimaced. “Too many questions. Not enough answers.”
“We’ll find them,” Iggy said. “Always do.”
Dalton glanced at the letters, strewn across the desk between empty mugs and a half-finished crosswords.
He just had to look hard enough.
Iggy followed his gaze, eyes lighting with understanding. “The code. Of course.” He snatched up the cryptic note from the safe, scanning the lines of nonsense. “It’s a simple cipher.”
“And do you?” Dalton asked.
“I might.” Iggy’s grin widened. “Us thieves have our secrets too, you know. Leave this to me.”
Dalton nodded, sinking back into the chair. At last, a flicker of hope.
If anyone could crack this code, untangle the web of secrets surrounding Lillian’s death, it was Iggy.
“Do your work,” he said. “I’ll be here, waiting for answers.”
Iggy gave a mock salute, already engrossed in his task.
Dalton smiled, closing his eyes.
A sharp cry of triumph shattered the silence. Dalton’s eyes snapped open as Iggy leapt to his feet, note clutched in one fist.
“I’ve got it!” Iggy waved the paper like a flag. “The wardrobe – there’s a hidden compartment. That’s where we’ll find the answers.”
“A hidden compartment?” Dalton stood, skepticism warring with hope. “Are you certain?”
“See for yourself.” Iggy thrust the note into his hands.
Dalton scanned the lines. The cipher was simple, the message clear. A hidden compartment in the antique wardrobe.
His gaze shifted to the wardrobe, standing in one corner. Unremarkable oak, embellished with simple carvings. The perfect hiding place, in plain sight.
“Well?” Iggy asked, eyes shining with excitement. “Aren’t you going to look?”
Dalton strode across the room, running his hands along the wardrobe’s side panels and doors. There, on the left side – a slight indentation. He pressed, and the panel slid inward with a soft click.
“You were right,” he said. “There’s a hidden drawer here.”
“Told you I’m good for more than bad jokes!” Iggy peered over his shoulder as Dalton reached inside, fingers closing around a leather-bound book. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A diary.” Dalton drew it out, gaze tracing the faded letters on the cover. “Lillian’s diary.”
“This is it!” Iggy grabbed his arm, shaking him in triumph.
Dalton opened the diary with care, the first page crackling under his touch.
The phone shattered the moment, shrill rings slicing through the tension. Dalton started, nearly dropping the diary in surprise.
“Steady there.” Iggy grinned, though his own eyes had widened. “It’s only the phone.”
With a scowl, Dalton picked up the receiver. “Yes?”
“Stop looking for answers you aren’t prepared to find,” a rough voice hissed, “or there will be a gunshot next time.”
The line went dead, silence ringing in Dalton’s ears. He replaced the receiver with a sharp snap.
“Trouble?” Iggy asked, false cheer fading.
Dalton nodded. “A threat. Telling us to stop the investigation.”
“Then we must be close.” Iggy siad. “Close enough that someone doesn’t want the truth revealed.”
Dalton looked down at the diary in his hands. “The truth is here,” he said softly. “Waiting to be found.”
Four
Dalton trudged down the winding path, his boots crunching on the damp leaves and pine needles. A chill ran down his spine as the thick canopy of trees whispered above in the breeze.
“You sure this is the right path?” Iggy asked, clutching his jacket tighter. “Feels like we’re walking into a horror movie.”
Dalton grunted. “The coordinates match.” His gaze swept the shadows, hand resting on the gun in his holster.
After a few minutes of tense walking, a dilapidated wooden structure came into view. The boathouse.
Iggy let out a low whistle. “Well, this brings back memories. Remember the old case with the crazed hermit in the swamp shack?”
“Focus,” Dalton said, although his mind did drift to that particular misadventure.
They entered the boathouse, dust motes swirling in the dim light from the doorway. Iggy sneezed as they looked around at the remnants of the owner’s secret life.
Scraps of letters, old photographs, and—Dalton’s breath caught in his throat. A pendant glinted on the floor, the initials V.P. engraved on its surface.
Iggy glanced at the pendant and let out a low curse. “Well, looks like this case just got a lot more complicated.”
Dalton’s jaw tightened, his worst fears confirmed.
They emerged from the forest, the looming silhouette of Whispering White Pines Resort visible through the trees. Veronica was sitting on the patio, gazing out at the shimmering lake with a cocktail in hand, the picture of nonchalance.
Dalton’s boots crunched on the gravel, shattering her poise. She turned, eyes widening at the sight of the pendant dangling from his gloved fingers.
“Where did you find that?” Her usual composure slipped, revealing a flash of panic.
“The boathouse. Care to explain why your initials are on it, Veronica?” Dalton’s voice was deceptively calm.
Veronica paled, the glass tumbling from her fingers and shattering on the patio stones. “I can explain.”
“We’re listening.”
She twisted her hands together, knuckles whitening. “I was desperate. Drowning in debt, struggling to keep my job and lifestyle. I couldn’t lose face, you see. The resort owner refused to sell, so I—” Her breath hitched. “I threatened him. But I never meant for anyone to get hurt, you must believe me!”
“And the pendant? The secret meetings?” Dalton pressed.
“He gave me the pendant as a promise that the deal would go through.” Her composure crumbled further, tears glistening in her eyes. “But then he wanted more money, the greedy fool. We were arguing by the lake and he fell—it was an accident, I swear! I panicked and tried to cover my tracks, but I’m not a murderer!”
Veronica sank into a chair, sobbing. Iggy hesitated, but Dalton’s stony expression didn’t waver.
Veronica’s sobs faded into ragged breaths as she raised her head, gaze locking onto something behind them. Dalton turned, following her line of sight.
His heart lurched.
She was pointing a gun at them, hands trembling but eyes burning with desperation. “I can’t go to prison. I won’t!”
Dalton raised his hands slowly, pulse racing. “Take it easy. No one needs to get hurt here.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iggy shifting towards the doorway, reaching for his phone.
“Don’t move!” Veronica shrieked. The gun wavered as she swung it between them. “I’ll shoot, I swear I will!”
“Okay, okay,” Dalton said soothingly. He took a step forward, hands still raised. “Just relax. We understand you didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Stay back!” Her voice rose to a frenzied pitch. “I won’t go down for this, I won’t lose everything I worked for!”
Dalton’s mind raced. He had to keep her distracted, buy Iggy time to call for help. “You’re scared and not thinking straight,” he said evenly. “Put the gun down, Veronica. We can work this out.”
“No! There’s no way out for me now, don’t you see?” Her eyes glittered with madness and despair. “The only way is if you both die here, in this rotten place. Then I’ll—”
A police siren wailed in the distance, shattering her words. Dalton lunged as Veronica jerked in surprise, grabbing her wrist and twisting until the gun clattered to the floor. She let out a shriek, clawing at him wildly, but he pinned her arms behind her back.
The police stormed in as Iggy sagged against the doorway in relief. Veronica shrieked and struggled as they dragged her away.
Dalton bent down to pick up the discarded gun, ejecting the magazine. His hands were steady, but his heart still pounded from the close call.
They had a murderer behind bars, but Whispering White Pines would haunt them still.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the rustic cabins of Whispering White Pines silhouetted against a tranquil blue sky.
Iggy joined him outside, two coffees in hand. “The police will handle the rest of the cleanup,” he said. “Time to head back to the city, buddy.”
Dalton nodded, taking a sip of coffee. “This place is supposed to be an escape for visitors. I just want to get as far away as possible.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Iggy glanced at the resort, a flicker of regret in his eyes. “Shame though.
They packed up the car in silence, the rustling pines and chirping birds unable to dispel the grim atmosphere that had descended upon Whispering White Pines. The drive back to Chicago was subdued, Veronica’s downfall lingering in their thoughts.
When the skyline came into view, towering skyscrapers gleaming against the horizon, Dalton felt the tension in his shoulders ease. The city might be a concrete jungle, but at least its dangers were familiar.
He glanced at Iggy, who was watching the road with a pensive expression. “At least we got our killer,” he offered.
Iggy let out a snort. “Doesn’t change the fact that we waltzed right into her trap. And we still don’t know why she did it.” He shook his head. “The lengths people will go when desperate, huh.”
Dalton stared out at the skyline, reflecting on Veronica’s shattered composure as she was dragged away. On the surface, she had it all – beauty, wealth and success. Yet beneath the glamor and sharp wit remained a woman driven into a corner, with nothing left to lose.
