They maintained their pretense of nonchalance until they were back in Ellie’s office. Wiping her hands on her jeans, as if her palms were sweating, she headed toward the kitchenette.
“I’ll make some coffee,” she said.
Nate grimaced. Ellie had many fine qualities, but her coffee tasted like black tar.
“No, I’ll make it,” he said in firm tones.
She rolled her eyes. “Coward.”
With brisk efficiency, Nate had the state-of-the-art machine spitting out a steaming brew and they were headed into Ellie’s office. They both chose to stand as Nate opened the grocery bag and started pulling out the contents to spread them over the desk.
Ellie reached for the stack of letters, untying the ribbon to glance through them.
“These were all addressed to my father’s office in Oklahoma City,” she said in surprise. “They were returned unopened.” She lifted her head to meet Nate’s steady gaze. “So much for my father’s supposed concern for his secretary.”
Nate wasn’t so ready to condemn Colin Guthrie. Everyone in town knew that Barb had a bad habit of using her old friends to fund her drinking habit.
“He probably got tired of her begging for money,” he pointed out.
“True,” she muttered, sifting through the stack of unpaid bills and the pawn tickets. “I’m not sure how she was surviving.”
Nate grabbed the small account ledger that was nearly lost among the letters from debt collectors.
“She must have been on disability or Medicaid,” he murmured. He flicked open the book, searching for any indication of monthly checks. There was nothing to reveal she was on government subsidies, but as he skimmed through the pages, he realized she hadn’t always been living on the edge of disaster. “She had quarterly stock dividends.” He flicked through more pages. “At least until the last seven years, when she started to tap into her original investment. She drained her account this past summer.”
Ellie moved to stand next to him as Nate traced Barb’s shaky entries into the ledger all the way back to the original sum.
“Fifty thousand dollars,” he said in confusion. How the hell did a woman like Barb get that kind of money to invest?
Ellie pointed toward the date that was neatly listed next to the total.
“The same year that the Hopewell Clinic burned down.” She sent him a worried glance. “A payoff ?”
“That would be my guess.” He paused. Crap. He didn’t want to hurt Ellie. The past couple of days had been difficult enough. But they had to discover the truth. No matter what the cost. “I think we should have a closer look at those letters.”
Ellie reached for the letters she’d tossed in the middle of the desk, opening the top envelope to pull out the single sheet of paper. Together they scanned the spidery handwriting that sloped at a sharp angle. Barb had clearly been sloshed when she’d been writing it.
As Nate had expected, the note was a plea for money. She started with a rambling demand for five thousand dollars, saying that she deserved the money after all she’d done for him. By the end, she grudgingly admitted that she would take any amount, no matter how small.
Ellie lifted her head to reveal her troubled expression. “After all I’ve done for you?” she said, quoting the letter. “That’s pretty vague.”
Nate snorted. “Yeah, it could mean anything from working late to having an affair to helping him cover up a crime.”
She flinched at his bleak suggestions, but she didn’t try to protest. They both understood that Colin Guthrie was involved in whatever was going on. The question now was just how deeply his connection ran. And what he was willing to do to keep his secrets hidden.
Ellie cleared her throat, her face pale but resolute. “The obvious solution is to ask my father.”
Nate bit back his refusal. He couldn’t order her not to speak with her own father. Even if the mere thought was enough to set off his inner alarms.
Instead, he tried for a distraction. Leaning forward, he grabbed the manila envelope and tore it open. He reached in to pull out a slender file.
As he’d hoped, Ellie was eyeing the file with a curious expression. “What is it?”
Nate flipped it open. His heart missed a beat as he caught sight of the bold letterhead at the top of the page.
“A patient file from Hopewell Clinic.”
Ellie sucked in an audible breath. “What does it say?”
Nate read through the neatly typed intake form. “Jane Doe. Female. White. Twenty-five years old. Home listed as Omaha, Nebraska.” He turned to the next page. “Addicted to alcohol. Crack. Tobacco. Three-year-old daughter. Admitted to the clinic May 12, 1995.” He paused to calculate the time frame. “Six months before it burned.”
She pressed against his side, glancing into the open file. “Is there anything else?”
Nate flipped through the forms. He didn’t have any experience in medical jargon, but most of it was fairly straightforward. “The doctor and nurses have a few notes,” he said. “A treatment plan. Several references to her oppositional defiant diagnosis.” He paused as he reached the last page. It was a grid, with the days of the week listed at the top, and along the side were combinations of numbers and letters that made no sense to Nate. Many of the small squares had dots colored in. “And this,” he added.
Ellie studied the form with the same confusion he felt. “What is it?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Maybe the clients were expected to do daily chores?” she suggested.
Nate shrugged. It made as much sense as anything. He replaced the paper and closed the folder.
“The more important question is why this particular file was in the cooler,” he said.
“Without a name, it’s going to be hard to discover who she is or what happened to her,” Ellie pointed out.
Actually, it was going to be impossible, Nate silently conceded. Not even the power of the FBI could identify a mystery Jane Doe from Omaha with no fingerprints or social security number or even a picture.
For now, the file was a dead end. He tossed it back on the desk and glanced in the manila envelope.
“Is that all?” Ellie demanded.
On the point of tossing aside the envelope, Nate realized there was something stuck at the bottom.
“No.” He shoved his hand into the envelope, snagging the object with the tips of his fingers and pulling it out. He felt a stab of surprise. “It’s a newspaper clipping,” he said.
He dropped the envelope on the desk. The clipping was fragile enough to disintegrate if he wasn’t careful. Slowly he unfolded it, holding it toward the light that spilled through the window. The ink had faded, making it difficult to see.
He read the headline out loud. “‘Mystery child found wandering near highway.’”
Ellie made a sound of surprise. “Mystery child?”
Nate allowed his gaze to move to the actual article. “‘The unknown child was discovered by a couple from Indiana who were driving past late last evening. They reported that they searched the area, but were unable to find the parents. They took the child to the local authorities. Sheriff Perry asks anyone with any information to contact his office.’”
There was silence as Ellie clearly waited for him to continue.
“That’s it?” she finally prompted.
Nate turned the article over. There was a coupon for toilet paper. Could that be the reason Barb had cut it out? No. She would never have put it in the envelope and hidden it in her special cooler.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice tight. “It doesn’t give the age or gender or race of the child.”
Her gaze was locked on the clipping in his hands, as if hoping for inspiration. At last she gave a shake of her head.
“Do you know when it happened?”
“No. There’s no date.”
She wrinkled her nose. “We know it’s the Curry paper if Sheriff Perry was in charge of the investigation. We might be able to search
through the archives.”
He crossed the office to xerox the clipping. He returned the original article to the envelope and folded the copy so he could tuck it into the front pocket of his jeans. It seemed unlikely that the mystery child had anything to do with the Hopewell Clinic or the crimes sweeping through Curry. It did, however, give him a perfect excuse to track down the former sheriff and question him.
“Actually, it would be a lot faster if I just ask Walter myself,” he said.
Surprisingly, she nodded in quick agreement. “Fine. You tackle Walter and I’ll go see my father.”
Nate once again bit his tongue. She was going to eventually see Colin Guthrie. He would rather it be on her terms, and when Nate was in town. Carrying his handgun.
He brushed a light kiss over her lips. “Call me when you’re done.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I watch as the men walk out of the motel room.
First out is the mayor. Of course. Ruben Chambers always shoves his way to the front. The man craves constant attention.
Next is Walter Perry. The onetime sheriff looks older than he did just a week ago. His back is stooped and his movements stiff. As if he is in pain.
Pleasure sweeps through me.
I want him to be in pain.
I want them all to be in pain.
Neville Morse is right behind the sheriff. Like Walter, he’s aged. Not as dramatically. Perhaps he didn’t really love his daughter. Or more likely, he’s relieved it was Mandy and not himself who was sacrificed for his sins.
I chuckle.
Mandy was just a down payment.
The last man out the door is Dr. Booker. The thin, nervous man is swiveling his head side to side. Like a prairie dog in constant search of danger.
Can he sense my presence?
I hope so.
It would be another layer of fear.
And Lewis Booker has escaped my initial punishment. I’m going to have to do something very special to make sure that he suffers.
The door of the motel room slams shut, hiding Colin Guthrie from view.
No matter.
He’s a delicious treat I intend to save for later. Along with the mayor.
For now, I move through the shadows, as silent as death. Ahead of me the doctor scurries down the street to his elegant Victorian home just a couple blocks away. His head continues to swivel. Side to side. Side to side.
Idiot. He has no idea that I’m on his trail.
He’s so afraid of what is in front of him, he forgets to look behind.
Now it’s too late.
* * *
Ellie took five minutes to make a fresh cup of coffee. Nate had many fine talents, but his coffee tasted like weak tea. She needed something with some actual punch to give her the courage to confront Colin Guthrie.
Not that she was afraid of her father. But he was an intimidating man who was used to having his own way. It made it difficult to stand up to him.
Draining her mug, she placed it in the sink and headed out the back of the office. It was still early enough that the nearby stores were closed, allowing an eerie silence to settle in the alley.
Ellie resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder as she hurried between the buildings. She wasn’t going to start jumping at shadows. Or assuming that some unseen enemy was watching her every move.
Paranoia was as dangerous as sticking her head in the sand and pretending nothing was wrong.
She needed to take reasonable steps to keep herself safe, without locking herself in Nate’s house and hoping it would all disappear. And just as importantly, she needed to focus her energy on solving the mystery surrounding the deaths of Daniel and Mandy and Barb.
Starting with a visit to her father.
She crossed the street, walking past the auto shop and through the parking lot of the motel where the silver Rolls-Royce stood out like a beacon.
With a small sigh, she headed toward the door next to the flashy car. There was nothing about Colin Guthrie that was ever low-key.
Sucking in a slow, deep breath, she lifted her hand and rapped on the peeling doorjamb. There was the sound of footsteps, then the curtains were twitched aside.
Ellie frowned as nothing happened. The sun had made its full appearance, spilling golden light over the parking lot. There was no way her father couldn’t see that she was the one knocking.
At last the door was pulled open and Colin studied her with a frown.
“Ellie.”
She determinedly stepped past him, entering the room and quickly glancing around.
There wasn’t much to see. A bed with the worn quilt pulled up, as if her father hadn’t even bothered to lie down. A packed suitcase on a faux leather chair. And a briefcase that was open on the narrow dresser.
“Good morning, Father,” she said, her gaze moving to the man who’d raised her.
He wore a long robe and his face was damp, as if he’d just finished shaving. She’d clearly interrupted his morning routine, although his hair was perfectly groomed, and his Rolex was strapped around his wrist.
Colin glanced toward the parking lot, as if suspecting there might be someone out there. Then, closing the door, he turned to regard her with obvious irritation.
“Why are you here?” he demanded. “I told you I would call.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. So much for fatherly affection.
“We need to talk.”
“We can talk when we return to Oklahoma City.”
“This can’t wait.”
His annoyance deepened. He was a man who gave orders and had them instantly obeyed.
“Clearly living in Curry hasn’t improved your manners,” he chided.
She tilted her head, studying his familiar face.
Her father had always been a handsome man. And the years had treated him kindly. The few wrinkles that fanned from his eyes and the sprinkling of silver in his hair only emphasized his image of stately elegance. But for the first time she noticed the lines bracketing his mouth had deepened and there was a hardness to his jaw that she’d never noticed before.
“Aren’t you interested in what I have to say?” she asked.
Her father glanced at his watch. There was nothing subtle about him.
“Not this morning. I’m busy.”
“Busy?” Her attention turned toward the open briefcase. There was a stack of files inside. “I thought you were here for Barb’s funeral.”
“I am. I need to get ready.” As if suddenly aware that the case was open, Colin briskly moved to push down the top. “I assume you plan to attend as well?”
She waited for him to turn back to face her. What was in the case? Work? Or something to do with his real reason for being in Curry?
“I haven’t decided,” she said.
“Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t,” he abruptly announced. “You should return to your house and start packing your belongings.”
Ellie narrowed her gaze. The words were deliberately chosen to irritate her.
“You’re not going to distract me,” she warned.
“Ellie—”
“Tell me about Hopewell Clinic,” she interrupted, going for shock value.
Her father stilled, obviously caught off guard by her question. Then, with a visible effort, he wiped his face of all expression.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He was lying.
“It was an addiction treatment facility that was built on Neville Morse’s land,” she said. “I know you were a board member.”
Having regained firm command of his composure, Colin offered a casual shrug.
“Was I? To be honest, I was one of the most prominent men in Curry when I lived here. I was on the board of the library, the church, and a dozen charities.” The words weren’t boasting. Just a statement of facts. “I can’t remember them all.”
“The clinic burned to the ground twenty-five years ago,” she told him.
> “If you say so.”
“You truly don’t remember?”
Perhaps realizing that Ellie didn’t believe his pretense of ignorance, Colin changed tactics.
“What is your interest in the . . .” Her father allowed his words to trail away, as if he couldn’t quite recall what she’d just said. “Hopewell Clinic?”
“I believe it’s connected to the recent deaths in Curry.”
His lips flattened. “What are you talking about? They died of an overdose. Sad, but unfortunately, an all too common occurrence these days.”
There was no way to miss the absolute certainty in his voice.
“The cause of death has been determined?” she demanded.
Colin gave a firm nod of his head. “I spoke with Walter, who’d heard from the medical examiner. Both Daniel and Mandy were found with large amounts of heroin in their systems.”
Ellie felt as if the ground was shifting beneath her feet. Was it true? Had they truly died from heroin?
It would be no surprise for Daniel. He’d been a hardcore addict for years. But Mandy . . .
The memories of the young woman flashed through Ellie’s brain. Seeing her with little Charlie as they walked to school. And hearing them laugh when they were playing soccer on the sidewalk outside her office. Or Mandy’s expression when she would sneak into the alley to smoke her one cigarette of the day. Ellie had caught her more than once, and the poor woman had looked as guilty as a child stealing a cookie. There was no way she would be so embarrassed if she was also shooting heroin into her arm.
“Mandy wasn’t a user,” she said with absolute certainty.
Her father made a sound of exacerbation. Had he expected her to simply accept that the deaths were an accident because the ME found heroin in their blood, and walk away?
She wouldn’t be his daughter if she wasn’t stubborn to the point of being downright pigheaded.
“This isn’t a courtroom where you can try to sway a jury with pleas of innocence,” he warned in stern tones. “The lab results don’t lie.”
She folded her arms around her waist. She didn’t understand what had happened to Daniel and Mandy. Or how they’d ended up in Neville Morse’s field, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that it had something to do with the past.
You Will Suffer Page 22
