Natural Selection Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Dedication:

  For my mother, Polly Spann,

  who told me I could do anything.

  Published 2005 by Medallion Press, Inc.

  225 Seabreeze Ave.

  Palm Beach, FL 33480

  The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO

  is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”

  Copyright © 2005 by Liz Wolfe

  Cover Illustration by Adam Mock

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wolfe, Liz.

  Natural selection / Liz Wolfe.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 1932815-22-8

  1. Women private investigators—Oregon—Fiction. 2. Oregon—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.O553N38 2005

  813’.6—dc22

  2005020726

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  PAIGE BLACKWELL SLOWED HER TEN-YEAR-OLD TRUCK and turned onto the rutted, seldom used, dirt road fifty miles east of Portland, Oregon. The late June morning was already warm, and she rolled her window down to compensate for the lack of air-conditioning. Half a mile down the road, she spotted the felled pine tree her informant had told her told to look for. The driveway was partially concealed by brush and Paige drove past it, then had to back up a few yards to turn onto it. Overhanging branches and vines swiped at her truck as she slowly drove up the long drive.

  The cabin she’d been told about was little more than a shack. The front door hung open and several windows were broken. Just visible from the corner of the shack was the rear end of a late model white sedan. Paige squinted at the license plate, then sighed when she identified the car as belonging to Lisa Johnston. She put the truck into park, then walked up to the front porch that ran the length of the cabin. Standing at the open door, she pulled her gun out, released the safety, and listened. The cabin was silent except for the chattering of a squirrel on the roof. Paige entered with the caution she’d learned as a cop.

  One side of the front room contained a shabby vinyl sofa and a wingback chair with faded and torn upholstery. The other side of the room held a kitchen area that consisted of an ancient refrigerator, a stove, and a sink. Fishing gear littered the counter. The areas were separated by a small table with three chairs, one of which had been pulled into the living area. The place smelled musty and unused in spite of the open door and broken windows. Paige continued into the back of the cabin and pushed a door open with her foot, revealing a small bathroom.

  Satisfied the cabin was uninhabited, Paige returned to the yard and walked around the dust-covered car. The seats were empty but for a leather briefcase with gold initials. L.M.J. Lisa Margaret Johnston. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, drew a set of lock picks from her pocket, and knelt at the trunk. Working the picks into the lock her hands trembled, and one of the picks fell out. Cursing softly, she started over again, and after several minutes the lock clicked open. Paige stood up, took a deep breath, and slowly pulled open the trunk.

  She staggered back from the odor of death and decay, even though she’d been half expecting it. The woman in the trunk wore casual cotton slacks and a print T-shirt. There were rope burns on her wrists and a plastic bag covered her head, secured around her neck with duct tape.

  Paige turned and trotted back to her truck, jumped inside, and rolled the window up. Leaning her head on the steering wheel, she gulped in air and swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. When her stomach settled, she flipped open her cell phone and punched in Nine-One-One.

  “Nine-One-One. What is your emergency?”

  “This is Paige Blackwell. I’m a private investigator with Parker Security and Investigations in Portland. I’ve just found a dead body.”

  After giving directions to her location, Paige surrendered to the tears that pooled in her eyes. Tears of frustration and anger.

  Lisa Johnston had worked as an administrative assistant for Eastland Industries in Portland for three years. She was young and attractive, engaged to be married in November. She attended college part time, working toward a teaching degree. And now she was gone. Leaving behind a bereaved fiancé, her parents, and two siblings.

  Paige brushed her tears away with a trembling hand and took a shuddering breath. She took a couple of fast-food napkins from the glove box and wiped her face. Sweat prickled on the back of her neck, and she twisted her long, dark hair into a knot and stuffed it inside a baseball cap. Minutes later a cruiser pulled into the driveway and parked behind her, effectively blocking her exit. Two Oregon State Police Officers got out and approached her truck.

  “Ma’am. You called nine-one-one?”

  “There’s a dead body in the trunk of that car,” Paige said, keeping her hands on the steering wheel. “I’m a private investigator. I was hired to locate Lisa Johnston after her disappearance. I believe she’s the one in the trunk.”

  The officer at her window nodded to his partner, who walked over to the white sedan, then turned back to Paige. “You have any ID on you?”

  Paige pulled out her driver’s license and PI license and handed them to him.

  “You touch anything?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I wore gloves when I opened the trunk. I saw the body and backed away, and then I called nine-one-one immediately.”

  “You didn’t check to see if she was still alive?” he asked.

  Paige stared at him for a moment. “It was obvious from the smell that the body’s been there for some time.”

  “I see. How’d you get the trunk open?”

  “I used my lock picks.”

  “Well, now, that’d be illegal.”

  “Lock picks are only illegal in Oregon if they’re used in the commission of a crime.” Paige pulled on the door handle, but the officer put his hand on the door preventing her from opening it.

  “Just stay in the truck, ma’am.”

  She sat back and wondered if she’d ever been that much of a jerk when she was in uniform. As soon as the officer walked away she got out of the truck. That didn’t feel rebellious enough, so she walked over to where the two officers stood looking into the trunk.

  “Looks like suicide,” the older officer said, pointing to the plastic bag on Lisa Johnston’s head.

  “S
uicide?” Paige shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Both officers looked at her with identical frowns that she interpreted to mean she’d overstepped her place. “Not many murders are committed with a plastic bag,” the younger officer explained. “However, it is a common method of committing suicide.”

  “With broken fingers?” Paige asked.

  “Huh?”

  Paige pointed to Lisa’s hands. Two fingers on her left hand and one on her right were bent at unnatural angles. “I doubt she inflicted that injury herself. And it’s unlikely she gave herself those rope burns on her wrists.”

  “How come you noticed that?” The older officer squinted at her suspiciously. “Maybe you aren’t telling us everything?”

  “I was a cop for seven years, two in homicide,” she explained.

  “Should have mentioned that earlier.”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “Where’d you work?” he asked.

  “Portland.”

  “And now you’re a PI?”

  Paige nodded.

  “Couldn’t hack it as a cop, huh?”

  Paige turned and stomped back to her truck.

  The rock wall at the gym stretched the entire three floors of the building. Paige strapped her harness over her shorts and T-shirt and threaded the rope through the carabiners. She pulled on her gloves and walked to the freestanding boulder area in the center. Not exactly like the real thing, but a close replica. There were two climbers on the belay wall and she had the boulder area to herself. Halfway up, Paige heard the door open and turned her head to see a tall man with blond hair pulled into a ponytail looking up at her. She turned her attention back to the climb and forced herself to concentrate on the cracks and crevices, pushing thoughts of Lisa Johnston out of her mind. Forty-five minutes later her muscles ached, and she felt a little better. Next were free weights.

  The blond man was sitting on a bench at the door, watching the other climbers. Paige nodded to him as she pushed the door open.

  “You looked really good up there,” he said.

  Paige scowled. She wasn’t in the mood for a flirtation. “Thanks.” She trotted down the hallway to the locker room, stowed her climbing gear, and headed for the weights. Leg presses, chest presses, lat pull-downs. Halfway through her bicep curls, the man appeared again.

  “You about done?” he asked.

  Paige ignored him, completed her reps, and deliberately dropped the twenty-pound dumbbells at his feet. He grinned at her.

  “If you’re looking to pick someone up, you’ve got the wrong woman.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” The man smiled and offered her his hand. “Wade Culver.”

  “Paige Blackwell.” Paige shook his hand. “Then what is it?”

  “You get right to the point, don’t you?” He chuckled. “I’m actually recruiting for a new reality television show.”

  “Not interested.”

  “You haven’t heard about it yet.”

  Well, he had her there. “Okay. You’ve got five minutes.” Paige wiped her brow and neck with a towel and sat on a bench.

  Wade took a seat on a bench across from her and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s a new show. Very secret, so I have to ask you to not tell anyone anything I say to you.”

  Paige nodded and looked at her watch.

  “This isn’t going to be like those other survival shows. There’s no political stuff. Nobody gets voted off the island.”

  Paige lifted her eyebrows in disbelief. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. This is real survival. That’s why we’re recruiting people who we think can handle it. You’ll be rock climbing, swimming rivers, gathering your own food.”

  Paige leaned forward, interested in spite of herself. This was all the stuff she loved. “Like wilderness camping?”

  “More. There’ll be challenges, rewards, that kind of thing. But it won’t be riddles and games. We’re calling it Xtreme Survival.” He sat back and grinned at her. “How’s that sound?”

  “Interesting. But I have a full-time job.” She rose from the bench and held her hand out to him.

  “That won’t be a problem. You get vacation time, right?” He stood and took her hand, pulling her just a bit closer. “The first phase is just two weeks. You’ll be on a team with five other contestants. Each team competes individually, then the top teams compete for the final win.”

  Paige hesitated but pulled her hand out of his.

  “You get fifty grand up front. That’s just for the first phase. Everyone on the two top teams gets another hundred grand. And the winning team members get three-hundred grand each.”

  Now he had her attention. She’d finally talked Shelby into selling her a part of the business. She’d been sure she could get a loan from the bank, but they’d turned her down. Probably Shelby would take payments, but it would take forever, and Paige wanted the deal to be finalized. Fifty thousand dollars would cover her thirty percent of Parker Security and Investigation and a little more.

  “I don’t know. It sounds interesting, but I’d have to think about it.”

  “That’s great. How about I take you to dinner tomorrow night? We can talk about it more. You might have questions by then.”

  “That’s not necessary. Just give me your number, and I’ll call you with my answer.”

  Wade held up his hands. “Hey, it’s not like I’m asking you out. I’ve been in town for a week, and I’m just tired of eating alone.” He grinned. “And it’s an expense account. We could do Emilio’s.”

  Damn, if her mouth didn’t water at the thought of Emilio’s.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  PAIGE PARKED HER TRUCK IN FRONT of the Victorian house that served as the offices of Parker Security and Investigations. The house had recently been painted a soft gray, accented with burgundy, charcoal, and white gingerbread. The gardener, Mr. Katsumura, had lined the walkway with red, white, and blue petunias the previous week in preparation for Independence Day.

  Paige bounded up the steps and opened the door. The front of the house had been remodeled into a large office that held three desks with a small sitting area, and a smaller room outfitted with a conference table and chairs. Behind that were a kitchen and two small rooms. Shelby Parker, the owner, had insisted that their newest employee, Zoe Drummond, stay in one of the rooms while she looked for an apartment. The upstairs rooms were Shelby’s living quarters.

  Zoe sat at the front desk, red curls piled haphazardly on top of her head, secured by a pencil.

  “Hey, Zoe. Any word from Shelby?” Paige dropped her bag in a chair and hung her jacket on the coat rack. Zoe waved from her desk, hunched over a calculator and a pile of receipts.

  “She left an hour ago. Said she had to see her lawyer and she’ll be back around ten.” Zoe’s fingers continued moving on the calculator as she talked. “Any luck with your missing person?”

  “I don’t know that you’d call it luck.” Paige measured coffee into the coffeemaker, added water, and flipped the switch. “I found her body yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh.” Zoe stopped calculating and looked up.

  “Yeah. It was pretty gruesome. Someone stuffed her into the trunk of her car and left it out in the woods, near a rundown shack.”

  “I guess it gets turned over to the police now.”

  “Yep. Homicide.” Paige grimaced and stared at the coffeemaker.

  Zoe pressed a key on the calculator and it started chugging out a strip of tape covered with numbers. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “It’s just frustrating.” Paige shrugged and willed the coffeemaker to go faster. “I keep thinking that if I’d done something different, I might have found her before she died.”

  “You did the best you could do, Paige.”

  “Thanks.” Paige smiled and poured coffee into her cup. “I guess I better get the report typed up. How are the books going?”

  “They’re a damned mes
s. I still can’t tell if we’re making money or losing it. I can’t believe she didn’t hire an accountant when she opened this place.”

  “I was trying to save money,” Shelby Parker said as she strode into the office. “And now I have you, so I don’t need an accountant.”

  “I thought I was going to be a private investigator.” Zoe frowned at her boss.

  “And you will. But first you need to be trained, and you need to get your license.” Shelby grinned at her. “And I need my books straightened out.”

  “You seem chipper,” Paige said. “Does that mean you had a good time with your boyfriend?”

  “I’m too old to have a boyfriend. And yes, we had a wonderful time.” Shelby dropped into her chair and picked up a stack of mail. “Now, tell me everything that’s been going on here.”

  “Not much to tell. I found Lisa Johnston’s body yesterday. It was definitely murder so the police will be taking it from here. I’m just about to type up my report for her family.”

  “They can’t all have happy endings, Paige.”

  “Yeah, I know. I learned that a long time ago.” Paige settled behind her desk and booted up her computer.

  “I saw the lawyer this morning. He’ll have the papers drawn up by the end of the week. Then you’ll own thirty percent of all this.” Shelby waved her hand to indicate the small, two-room suite.

  “Yeah. I have to finalize the money thing this week.” Paige turned back to her computer and started typing the report.

  “Is the money a problem?” Shelby looked up from the mail she’d been flipping through.

  “No.” Paige shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m just getting it from a different source than I’d originally thought.”