He strolled to the cruiser, refusing to acknowledge the slight ping he’d experienced when the dispatcher had given him the name and address. No big deal, he told himself as he drove the short distance from Lavender to Blood Mountain. No need to think Mrs. Wynngate’s stepdaughter would be visiting. No reason to believe there was danger brewing.
He waved to the security guard at the gate and breezed into the Falling Rock community with its rows of manicured homes. Blood Mountain was only half the size of its neighbor and sparsely inhabited except for this one exclusive subdivision. When people like Cynthia Wynngate called, they expected immediate attention, no matter the problem. He’d heard that Mrs. Wynngate’s husband had died many) months ago. At least he wouldn’t be stepping into a domestic disturbance situation. Those were the worst.
He knew exactly which showcase house belonged to the Wynngates, even if he hadn’t been there in years. Sammy parked in the semicircular brick driveway and strode to the door, automatically surveying the area and cataloging details.
The Massachusetts license plate on the sleek BMW was the first sign of trouble.
Cynthia Wynngate’s cold welcome at the door—“What took you so long to get here?”—was the second sign.
The final confirmation of trouble was the woman pacing the den. Pewter eyes, cool as gunmetal, slammed into him—she was clearly as unhappy to see him as he was to cross paths with her again. A younger girl he didn’t recognize stood in the corner of the room, polishing a cherry hutch, trying to act inconspicuous but watching everything from the corner of her eyes.
Mrs. Wynngate didn’t bother with introductions. He’d met her a few times over the years at local charity events and political fund-raisers. Not that she’d remember him. He was a law enforcement officer, a guy with a badge who served a function if she ever needed his service. Nothing more. She waved a hand at the coffee table as she sank onto a sofa. “Beth, tell him what’s going on.”
Beth uncrossed her arms and reluctantly made her way over, pointing at scraps of paper littering the table. “This came in the mail today.”
He took a seat and peered down. “What is this? A cut-up old newspaper photo?”
Beth leaned over him, and he inhaled the clean scent of shampoo and talcum powder. A sudden, inexplicable urge to pull her into his lap and inhale her sweet freshness nearly overwhelmed him. Stop it. Concentrate on the job.
“Yes,” she answered. “The photo’s from many years ago. And that red dot is where he marked my chest.”
The crimson ink made the hairs on his forearms rise. Why would anyone want to harm Beth? Perhaps it had been a particularly bad breakup with a boyfriend. Or an encounter with a guy who’d harbored hidden stalker behavior. “Any idea who might have sent this?”
“Dorsey Lambert,” Beth answered at once. “He threatened retaliation against Dad when he was sentenced twelve years back.”
His forehead creased. The name didn’t ring a bell. “But that was a long time ago. How can you be so sure—”
“They released him two weeks ago. Within days, I got a letter in Boston saying I’d have to pay for my father’s corruption.”
Mrs. Wynngate made a ticking noise of disgust as she rose from her seat and signaled to the young girl by the hutch. “Such a ridiculous accusation. Abbie, see if the officer would like coffee or refreshments.”
Sammy flashed a quick smile in the girl’s direction and held up a hand. “No, thanks,” he told her, returning his attention to the photograph.
A disgruntled ex-con. Should be easy enough to track down the guy and have him questioned. He was obviously trying to scare Beth, but odds were he’d never take action. Often, these kinds of cowardly threats amounted to nothing more than bluster. But he’d definitely investigate. If this Lambert guy was released on parole rather than end-of-sentence, then he’d report the threats to Lambert’s parole officer and have his parole revoked.
“I’ll check this out,” he promised Beth.
“Hope that means more than a phone call to the Georgia Department of Corrections,” she said stiffly. “Because that’s all the Boston PD did for me.”
“I told you I’d follow up. As soon as I have information, I’ll call you.”
The skeptical look on her face made him want to groan. Of course she had no reason to trust him, of all people. She opened her mouth, no doubt to utter some sharp retort, but her stepmother interrupted.
“Tell him about the footprints,” Cynthia said.
Footprints? That was definitely more foreboding than anonymous mail. It meant danger was close by. It meant someone intended harm.
With a sigh, Beth strolled to the French doors overlooking the backyard. “Right there,” she said. “They start at the tree line by the back of the property and come all the way to the patio.”
A Peeping Tom, perhaps? Yet he couldn’t disregard the coincidence of them appearing on the same day as the letter. He eyed the prints. Large and wide, probably from a male.
“Tell you what. I’ll snap some close-up photos of these prints and follow them out to the woods. Take a look around. I’ll be back shortly to collect that mail as evidence. In the meantime, don’t touch it anymore, okay? The fewer fingerprints on it, the better.”
“Of course,” she muttered, and he had the feeling she was barely able to refrain from rolling her eyes.
Sammy stepped outside and withdrew his cell phone, then bent on one knee and observed the footprint. About a man’s size thirteen, he guessed. It wasn’t much to go on. The snow was so light that no identifying shoe treads remained, only the outline of the shoe and the dark earth beneath the dusting of snow. He snapped several photos, then followed the tracks to the woods.
At the woods’ edge, a whish sounded from behind, and he spun around.
“I wanted to see if you found anything.” Beth stood before him, a stubborn set to her heart-shaped face.
It was an expression he’d witnessed several times before.
“Not a good idea. Better get back to the house, just in case. Those tracks were fresh.”
“I’d rather not. And this is our property, after all. I have a right to know if anyone’s trespassing.”
“You also have the right to get hurt if someone’s still out here,” he retorted.
She said nothing, merely crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin a fraction. Clearly, she didn’t intend to listen to reason. Especially not coming from him. He shrugged. Whoever had been here had surely seen him pull up in the sheriff’s department cruiser and had hightailed it out. “Suit yourself. But stay behind me and keep quiet.”
Surprisingly, she complied. He carefully picked his way through dead vines, leafless shrubs and evergreen trees, eyes peeled for any sign of broken twigs or an object left behind. But the snow hadn’t drifted down past the heavy canopy of the treetops, and there were no tracks evident, only mounds of seemingly undisturbed pine needles and twigs. Only ten feet into the woods, the ground dropped off sharply along the ridge forming Blood Mountain.
Sammy scanned the area. From here, he could view the dirt road below and the much larger Lavender Mountain, which loomed across from them. There was no evidence that anyone had recently tromped through these woods, and the unpaved road below sported an untouched sprinkling of snow. Whoever had been at the Wynngate estate was either still hiding somewhere in the thick woods, or he’d parked an ATV farther down the dirt road, well out of their sight. He stood silent for several minutes, trying to make out any unnatural rustling or spot anything out of the ordinary in the green, brown, gray and white landscape.
Nothing.
“He’s gone,” Beth whispered, stepping beside him.
“Appears that way. Soon as I leave here, I’ll get the department’s ATV and drive down the dirt road. See if there’re any recent road tracks.”
“You will?”
Agai
n with the skeptical tone in her voice. “If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”
She nodded, started to turn away and then faced him again. “Thank you.”
Must have killed her to say that. She clearly still held a grudge. He followed her back to the house, and just as Beth was about to reach for the patio door to reenter the den, he decided to try, one last time, to explain about that night so many years ago. He tapped her shoulder for attention and let his hand drop when she faced him.
“Look, Beth. Hear me out. I’m sorry for what happened back then. It wasn’t fair that you were left taking all the blame that night for a situation that had clearly grown out of your control.”
Her mouth pursed in a tight line. “Damn right it wasn’t fair. The house was packed with people, and I was probably the only person in it not drinking or smoking pot.”
“It was filled with underage people at your house,” he reminded her. “And we found traces of heavier drugs. Not just marijuana.”
“But I knew nothing about that. I didn’t even know most of those people or where they came from. I was only seventeen, and somehow, a small party while my parents were away turned into something I couldn’t control.”
“I understood that, even as a rookie cop. But I had no—”
“I needed your help. If you understood the situation, then why the hell did you have to arrest me?”
The question hung between them.
Again he tried to explain. “Like I said, I was a rookie. My partner was an experienced patrol officer, and I was only a few weeks into my probationary period. He took the hard-nosed approach, and I had no choice in the matter.”
He remembered Beth’s panicked eyes that night, her tear-streaked face as she’d opened the door and let them into the house where the party raged uncontrollably. “Thank God you’re here,” she’d said. “I can’t find Aiden anywhere.”
She’d recognized him that night. He and her brother had played baseball together in the Lavender Mountain Youth League every summer for years. They’d been close friends up until high school, when Aiden had run with a different set of friends that were more into parties than sports, and they’d drifted away from each other.
“You have no idea how that arrest affected me.” Beth crossed her arms and bit her lip, as though regretting that admission.
“It wasn’t fair that everything came down on you,” he admitted.
Sammy had no doubt Aiden was responsible for the wild crowd that evening. Yet the Golden Boy had managed to escape the debacle with no arrest record to mar his future career as a criminal attorney. Actually, everyone had gone free, save Beth. The herd of partygoers had stampeded out the back door, leaving behind all the drugs and alcohol. The quiet mountain subdivision had roared with the sound of their vehicles hastily exiting the premises.
“Forget it,” she said at last, her back stiffening.
“I would, but apparently you can’t,” he said. “I was only doing my job that night. I hope you understand.”
She gave a grudging nod. “I can appreciate that. I just wish...that you’d been able to intervene on my behalf. I was scared and unsure what to do.”
That had been obvious. But Sergeant Thomas had been unmoved, ordering Sammy to handcuff Beth and place her in the cruiser.
“Did you really try to soften the older cop, or did you blindly follow orders?” Beth asked.
And there was the crux of the matter. He’d voiced his opinion, but once the sergeant shot down his objection, he’d kept his mouth shut. If he’d had it to do all over again, Sammy liked to think he’d have acted differently, have insisted that Aiden be held responsible for what had happened in that house.
He cleared his throat, about to defend himself once more, when he spotted movement within the house. Cynthia Wynngate emerged from the hallway into the den, rolling a large piece of luggage across the gleaming walnut floor.
“Does your stepmother have plans to go somewhere?” he asked.
Beth frowned and pushed open the door. “Not that I’m aware of.”
They reentered the warmth of the spacious living room, where Abbie collected used coffee cups.
“Where are you going?” Beth asked Cynthia.
“Back to Atlanta. I couldn’t possibly stay here after all this.”
Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, Sammy mulled. If they left for the city, they might be safer in a new location that wasn’t so isolated.
Mrs. Wynngate turned to Abbie. “I left your paycheck on the mantel. I won’t be needing your services again until all this is cleared up.” Her gaze flickered to where they stood by the door. “Beth, be careful about keeping the house locked tight. Officer—” her eyes scrunched as she peered at his ID badge “—Officer Armstrong. Can your department be sure to patrol by the house and keep surveillance on it? So many neighbors have already vacated their homes during the off season, and I don’t want any trouble.”
He blinked at the elegant woman before him. Was she really going to leave Beth behind and not even offer her the option of returning to Atlanta with her? Apparently, her only concern seemed to be for the house itself. What kind of person left another to face danger alone? Especially a family member?
Abbie spoke up. “I’ll stay with you if you’d like, Beth.”
“That would be great, Abbie,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Wynngate frowned. “But she’s no longer in my employ.”
“Abbie and I will work something out,” Beth said.
He marveled at Beth’s composure. Did she not even see how she’d been so coldly dismissed by her stepmother? That Cynthia had even made it clear she wasn’t footing the bill for Abbie’s sleepover? Or maybe this was all par for the course, and Beth expected nothing from the woman.
Strange family.
Chapter Three
Something was...not quite right.
Beth snapped from the void of sleep to alertness. Slivers of moonbeams jabbed through the blind’s slats, etching vertical patterns against an onyx darkness. Although the house was silent, she was sure there had been a noise. A click of a latch, perhaps...a brief metallic ping that had no place in the dead of night.
She hardly dared move, her right hand tightly bunching a mound of down comforter as she eased into a sitting position. Seconds passed, then several minutes, the only noise a loud whooshing of her unsteady breath.
Her mind scrambled for an explanation. Maybe Abbie had awakened and gone to the bathroom down the hall, locking the door behind her. Yes, that made sense. All this business with Dorsey Lambert had troubled her so deeply that it had invaded her dreams. Yet Beth remained upright in bed, waiting for the bathroom door to creak open.
It didn’t.
Cautiously, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and gently lowered her feet to the floor. Without flipping on a light, she unplugged her cell phone from the charger at her nightstand and walked to the door, her bare toes plunging into the plush carpet. Her hand grasped the doorknob, turned it ever so slowly, and then pushed the door open an inch. Just as deliberately as she’d turned the knob clockwise to open it, she released it counterclockwise and peered down the hallway.
No splinter of light shone beneath the bathroom door.
The large windows of the den’s cathedral ceiling provided enough illumination to inch forward. She continued down the hallway toward the guest room at the end of the hall where Abbie was staying. At the girl’s door, Beth raised a hand to knock, then hesitated. How foolish she’d look if she awakened Abbie for no reason.
Kerthunk.
Beth jumped at the sound that had emanated one story below. Her father’s old study. It sounded as though one of the books had tumbled from the shelf onto the hardwood flooring. The first logical explanation that came to mind was that some nimble feline had accidently knocked over a heavy object.
/> Too bad Cynthia didn’t have a cat.
She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat, not wanting to acknowledge the other logical conclusion: someone was in the house. Indecision tore at her. Should she call the cops and barricade herself and Abbie in the guest room, or try to figure out what the hell was going on?
The unmistakable rustling of papers from below prompted her to immediate action. She opened the bedroom door and hurried to the bed.
Abbie wasn’t there.
Confusion spiked her mind. Had she entered the wrong guest room? No, the girl’s overnight bag was on the dresser. So where was Abbie? Beth put a hand on her chest and willed her racing heart to slow. Now was the time for level thinking.
Perhaps Abbie was the one in the study. She’d gotten up in the middle of the night and, unable to sleep, had gone downstairs to read or watch television. She could have gone in Dad’s study to get a book, accidentally bumped against the desk and knocked something over.
Beth almost smiled with relief. Still, she kept her phone on with speed dial at the ready in case there was a more sinister explanation. She almost hadn’t let Sammy put his number in her phone, but he’d appeared unwilling to leave until she allowed him to do so. And she’d wanted him to go. His presence unnerved her.
Careful to make no noise, she returned to the hallway and made her way to the winding staircase leading to the den. At the bottom of the stairs, she picked her way through the den and the kitchen. Sure enough, the study door was cracked open several inches, and dim light spilled from the lamp on Dad’s desk.
She’d been right. Pleased with her logic, Beth opened her mouth to call out a greeting to Abbie, but the words died in her throat.
A man wearing jeans and a black hoodie was rifling through the file cabinet.
Not. Abbie.
He jerked a handful of papers out of a file and thrust them under the lamp, studying their contents. The intruder wore black gloves—and that detail terrified her more than the hoodie drawn tightly about his face.
She tried not to make a sound as she again picked her way back through the kitchen and then the den. Where the hell was Abbie? Beth ran up the stairs, hoping the carpet muffled her footsteps. At the top of the stairs, she paused. She didn’t dare dial Sammy, afraid the intruder would hear her speak. Instead, she shot Sammy a text: There’s someone in my house.
Appalachian Peril Page 2
