Free His Garden of Bones (Skye Cree Book 4) by Vickie McKeehan Page B

know that his so-called friend basically conned both of you about who he is and what he does for a living. That’s a major red flag.”
    “Yeah, it’s one reason I’m steamed about the whole thing. I’m tired of hiring contractors who lie and don’t deliver.”
    “Okay, so what if we both confront him together? If you want to take the lead, I’ll be there to have your back. Why not send him an email? You may not even get a reply. Maybe he’s already moved on to a better-paying gig.”
    “Sounds like a plan. Do you plan to go out tonight?”
    “No. I was out all day yesterday and part of last night. I’m taking your suggestion and doing more delegating at the foundation, patrolling more during the day. Although the trend shows the scum seems to crawl out at night.”
    “It just seems that way.”
    “I suppose so.”
    They were just finishing up dinner when the kitchen phone rang. It was Harry. Skye put the phone on speaker so Josh could listen in.
    “Just so you know, not surprisingly, the lab didn’t find a single print on the container holding the flowers.”
    “So the guy wasn’t sloppy,” Josh said.
    Skye chewed her lip. “Typical. I’d go door to door and quiz the neighbors to see if they saw a delivery but the nearest house isn’t all that close. We’re fairly remote out here.”
    “All the more reason to take precautions,” Harry warned.
    “Which reminds me to call a security company,” Josh said, moving to his cell phone on the kitchen counter.



Chapter Five
     
    T he two-story Western Firebird motel sat vacant in the old section of downtown Seattle, right off the I-5 corridor.
    Realtors were shocked to learn anyone would actually throw money into an abandoned building that hadn’t really thrived since the eighties.
    From its grand opening four decades earlier, the motel had once provided an appealing spot for vacationing families looking for an inexpensive place to bring the kids. The marketing targeted out-of-towners from Canada or Spokane or as far away as Colorado. Back then you couldn’t beat the location. You could see the sights and all Seattle had to offer within walking distance. You could eat at several ethnic restaurants, get breakfast at three in the morning, or catch a movie without shelling out cash for a cab.
    But by the nineties business dried up. Most of the family activity in the area dwindled and was replaced by urban decay. Drug dealers moved in, bringing violence and nightly shootings. During part of that time, the area was a killing ground for serial killer Gary Ridgway, who was fond of picking up young girls for sex along the route from downtown to the airport and beyond to Tacoma.
    When the last owner died in 1992, the relatives decided to close the doors for good, which meant the ancient sign—in the shape of a giant bird—had stood unlit for more than twenty years. The overhang sagged and needed major reinforcement, windows were boarded up, and the asphalt parking lot had pits and holes the size of craters. The cracked swimming pool hadn’t seen sparkling water in decades, and was now nothing more than a catchall for blowing debris and dirty rainwater.
    Its rundown condition was no doubt the reason Josh and Skye had scored the property at a dirt-cheap price. They wanted to use it to put a dent in the homeless population—a worthwhile project but one that had, so far, proved a pain in the ass to get off the ground.
    This morning they stood outside next to the crumbling sign, a fine mist falling, and watched an older model Dodge Caravan with peeling paint pull into the lot. No doubt the vehicle belonged to Hank Fielding, the contractor they intended to let go. Josh had emailed him two nights before to set up the meeting. The man’s firing wasn’t exactly something they looked forward to doing.
    Josh spotted the driver—the man he’d hired only two weeks earlier—and a woman with long brown hair sitting in the passenger seat cuddling a baby on her lap.
    A