Down the Darkest Road

by Kylie Brant

  “Have you ever met any of your nephew’s friends?”

  “No reason I would.” The man crossed to the decades-old refrigerator and set the shotgun on top of it. “He didn’t live here. Used the place a few times when I was gone, and I gave him hell about it too.”

  “Did he ever mention Bruce Forrester?” Cady asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Charlie Weber? Stephen Tillis?” Loomer gave a headshake each time.

  “How did he spend his time? What was he interested in?”

  “Not much but computers and video games.” The words were spoken with obvious disgust. “Useless time wasters, you ask me. Didn’t have a thought in his head that didn’t involve one or the other.”

  “How about girlfriends? Did he mention any?” Although the investigators hadn’t learned of a woman Loomer was involved with, his uncle might know more about his nephew’s personal life.

  The man shrugged. “Liked women as much as the next guy, I ’spect. Never brought one here. Least, not when I was around.” He walked to the door, clearly ready to have them gone.

  “How much time did he spend here?” Miguel asked.

  “He came every month or so. Used to bring my groceries and medicine from Hope Mills. Now I use a delivery service twice a month. Got some damn outreach program from a church in town poking their nose in now and then. If I need a ride for anything, I can send a note to them.”

  “What did you and Eric do when he was here?”

  “I taught him some real skills. How to fish and hunt. How to dress a deer. Thanks to me, he knows how to live off the grid without worrying about anyone sneaking up on him.”

  “You mean like the alert system you rigged on your path?” When the older man’s gaze slid from hers, Cady recalled the deputy’s warning earlier. “Mr. Loomer, did you teach him about explosives?”

  His jaw jutted. “Man’s got a right to protect himself.”

  Cady and Miguel exchanged a look. The news was ominous. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone, if he was intent on hiding out?”

  “How would I know? He was raised ’round these parts, so makes sense to go somewhere he’s not known.” Clearly having reached the limits of his hospitality, Loomer opened the door. “I’m done talking.”

  They left the house and walked toward the drive that would lead them back to the Jeep. They lost sight of the man behind as they passed the clearing and started down the path toward the vehicle. Then an explosion ripped through the air.

  “Get down!”

  Cady was already diving for cover when she heard Miguel’s warning. She hit the ground. Rolled and came to her knees with her weapon drawn. The smoke made it difficult to immediately discern what had happened. She scrambled to her feet, jogged back to the clearing. There were bits of carcass and blood strewn along the left side of Loomer’s cabin, no more than thirty feet from where they’d passed. An instant later, his door opened, again with the shotgun barrel jutting out. Then the man himself sidled out onto the porch. Lowered the weapon and heaved a sigh of disgust. “Damn deer.”

  He had the property booby-trapped. Adrenaline doing a fast sprint up her spine, Cady looked over her shoulder for Miguel. He was stepping into the clearing, brushing off his clothes. They approached the cabin again, weapons drawn.

  “Mr. Loomer. Set down your rifle,” Miguel called. With her free hand, Cady took her cell from her pocket. They’d require assistance from the Cumberland County sheriff’s office after all.

  But as they assumed control of the situation, it wasn’t their close call that had Cady most worried.

  It was Loomer’s tacit admission that he’d taught his nephew similar skills.

  Chapter 22

  “How are you coming down there?” Laura Talbot called from the top basement step.

  “I’m done,” Ryder called back. After feeding Cady’s dog, he’d been at loose ends. He hadn’t heard from her since her text saying she was heading to Vander and wouldn’t be back until after dark. That wasn’t uncommon. But a thread of worry nagged at him anyway. He hoped she’d taken someone along with her, whatever she was working on. Not that he’d give voice to his concern. They’d grown closer in the last three months. But the unspoken no-trespassing signs she posted were unmistakable.

  He got to his feet and dusted off his jeans. His trip to his mom’s to start looking for the missing files had morphed into a handyman session. First tightening a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink and then switching out the furnace filters. He carried the old ones to the door of the storage room and stepped inside it. After scanning the rows of neatly labeled plastic bins, he backed out the door again.

  Going through each of the tubs would take far more time than he had at the moment, since he’d already spent a couple of hours here. He headed toward the stairs, filters in hand. If Butch Talbot had brought home the Maddix file to peruse at his leisure, one would think it’d be in his den. But Ryder had thoroughly searched the file cabinet and desk when they’d looked for property and financial documents after his dad’s death. He’d recall if it had been in either.

  He climbed the steps and set the filters by the garage door. He’d take them with him and discard them for his mom later. Without conscious decision, he moved toward the den. Stood in the doorway. Meant as a bedroom, it had always been his dad’s domain. The large hickory desk with matching file cabinet sat against one wall. A recliner and end table next to a window. He went to the closet and opened it. Found it filled with more of his mom’s clothes. He checked the bookcase on the opposite wall and the TV stand.

  “Honey? Are you looking for something?”

  Feeling foolish, he jerked around. Smiled at his mom. “Did Dad ever bring work home?”

  She rolled her eyes. “More times than I like to remember. If I saw him at his desk paying bills, I always tiptoed on by. But if he had folders open, I knew I’d need a bullhorn to get his attention. When something from work was nagging at him, he was like a dog with a bone.”

  Had something caught the man’s attention in Lonny Maddix’s case? Ryder considered the idea. No way to discern what it might have been without the file itself. And he could be fairly certain it wasn’t in this room. Which left only one place to look.

  “I’m going to poke around in the garage a little bit. I’ll put the wrench away.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fix-it.” She smiled up at him, a petite woman, her blonde hair and makeup still immaculate despite the hour. “You must have gotten your skills from your dad. He was handy, too, but I swear sometimes the roof had to practically cave in before I could get him to take the time for a few repairs around the house.”

  Tension seeped into his shoulders. “I learned a lot from him,” Ryder said impassively as they walked from the room and through the house. Memories of his dad would always be marred by the less-flattering things he’d discovered about the man. He still hadn’t figured out how to untangle the good from the bad. His mom followed him to the kitchen, where he retrieved the wrench he’d used earlier. “Is the painter all done?” he asked.

  “All that’s left are the bedrooms.”

  He stopped at the door to the garage and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Come for dinner sometime. Bring that woman you were so cagey about last weekend.”

  Ryder halted. Narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t cagey. You and Ronda were just nosy.”

  His mom looked satisfied. “If there wasn’t a woman, you would have denied it flat-out. Instead you danced around our questions like you were hopping on live coals. I might not be an experienced cop, but I can read people, especially my son. There’s someone. I don’t know why you’re being so closemouthed, but I figure that means something too.”

  “It does.” He waited for her gaze to fly to his. “It means you have an overactive imagination.” He ducked the light swat she aimed at him and grabbed the filters, letting himself into the garage and flipping on the light.

  “I’ll fi
nd out. I have my sources.” His mom gave what could only be described as an evil laugh before shutting the door. Ryder shook his head. It was probably best that Cady had had other plans last weekend. The grilling she would have faced would quell hardened criminals.

  Quickly, he crossed to his dad’s workbench and replaced the wrench on the pegboard that hung above it. Not that Cady wouldn’t be up to the task. He hadn’t noticed much that daunted her. Given the grimness that had dogged her life, that was no surprise.

  You could say the event sort of defined my childhood. The mental snippet flashed across his mind. Of course it had. And he knew the impact lingered.

  He scanned the garage’s interior, doubt creeping in. If the file had been brought home and not returned, it should be in Butch’s den. There would be no reason for it to be in the storeroom or here. Knowing that didn’t keep Ryder from swiftly going through the drawers of the workbench and tool chests. Eliminating the unlikely was a necessary part of the search too. If the file wasn’t located soon, maybe he’d mention it to Jerry Garza, his investigator. Although Garza’s time with the sheriff’s office didn’t stretch back decades, he had worked for Ryder’s dad.

  Finished with the drawers, he went to the shelves lining the wall in front of his dad’s car. They were stacked somewhat neatly with the same stuff found in Ryder’s own garage. Spare parts. Gasoline containers. Cans of oil. Extension cords. Portable lights. He shifted everything he couldn’t see behind and then replaced it as he moved on, already preparing himself for failure. He’d head home after this, give it more thought over a beer. He’d missed the Hornets game Saturday night. Maybe something would come to him as he watched the recording.

  He dragged over the stepladder and climbed it to check the highest shelf. He shoved aside a plastic tote that reached the ceiling, then righted it again and started to move on. Belatedly, comprehension clicked in. He took the tote off the shelf, balancing it on the top step of the ladder. The drywall in the ceiling above it had been scored into an eighteen-inch square. Ryder traced the seam with his index finger. Found a rough spot where some of the material had been chipped away. He pressed his palm against the center of the Sheetrock. It shifted inward.

  Foreboding knocked at the base of his skull. He dug in his pocket for his penknife and flipped out a blade. Slipping it inside the seam, Ryder pried the piece off and set it on top of the tote. He shoved his hand up in the area, fingers searching blindly. There was a flat shelf wedged between the rafters on one side of the opening. Something rested on top of it.

  Ryder withdrew a black expanding file. Looked inside. He wasn’t totally surprised to find a file folder in it. But he hadn’t counted on finding six of them.

  Chapter 23

  Cady would have had to be comatose to sleep through Hero’s raucous barking. She bolted upright in bed, scrubbing her hands over her face. Picking up her cell from the bedside table, she checked the time. Just after three. She pushed the covers back and swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed. Went to find the animal.

  He had his front paws on the sill of the picture window in the front room, baying for all he was worth at something he’d seen or sensed outside.

  “C’mon.” She took him by the collar and dragged him away only to have the dog duck free and return to his ruckus. Cady got a firmer grip and pulled him toward her bedroom. She knew better than to let him outside. If a deer had jumped the fence or another critter was in the yard, closer proximity would only prolong the racket.

  She grabbed the discarded clown on the way and shut the bedroom door behind them. “Here. Take the damn thing and calm down.”

  But Hero went to the window instead, letting out short staccato barks. The room didn’t have a view of the front of the property. Cady got back in bed and aimed a gimlet stare at the dog, who was still growling and pacing. “Hero! Quiet!”

  Finally, the animal quieted but remained alert. That was fine with her, as long as the din stopped. She didn’t have much hope of falling back to sleep, but at some point, she dozed fitfully. And this time an all-too-familiar nightmarish montage followed.

  A shadowy figure. Unidentifiable. “Only point it at bad guys.” The words swirled through her mind like an icy breeze. “You don’t like bad guys, do you, Cady?” Then, like a disjointed scene in a spliced movie, she was suddenly at Larry Loomer’s house, but this time the explosion was closer. More violent. The dream morphed again, and she was transported to Charlotte. Her body was hurtling across an alleyway to slam against a brick wall, debris raining down on her. Her grandfather’s face superimposed over the destruction. “You mess with the bull, you get the horns.” Darkness swallowed her up. Her body shook. His root cellar again. The scent of the earthen walls filled her lungs. The cold dampness crept into her bones. Her grandfather’s voice whispering in her head. “You afraid of the dark, girlie?”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, chilled. And still the nightmare reel continued. A spotlight split the darkness. Filled it. And Cady wasn’t in the cellar anymore. She was in the kitchen. The cracked linoleum beneath her feet. Blood on her mama’s face. On her nightdress as she huddled on the floor against the old refrigerator, Cady’s dad looming over her, his features blurry and indistinct. Her hand creeping toward the gun on the table. The weight of it in her hand. The shot deafening in the small room . . .

  She came fully awake, her heart beating a frantic rhythm in her chest. Cady leaped from the bed, anxious to leave the remnants of the nightmare behind her. Her actions roused Hero. He padded over to her, nosed her hand. She hauled in a deep breath, then another as she petted him, his warmth and nearness calming her in a way nothing else could. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Guess we’re even now, huh? We’re both sleep wreckers.” Straightening, she grabbed her phone to check the time. Five thirty. Allen wouldn’t expect her in first thing this morning because of the long hours they’d put in yesterday, but she had no intention of taking leave. There were multiple threads she wanted to follow up on. She also needed to take a stab at contacting the Madison County inmates she’d run down yesterday.

  She fed Hero and let him outside. Changing into shorts and a sports bra, she headed to the treadmill in the second bedroom. A forty-five-minute run successfully banished the dark, sticky remnants of the dream. She showered, dressed, and ate breakfast, finally feeling human again despite the lack of sleep.

  Cady loaded her laptop into its case and set it next to the breakfast bar. Then she went to find her phone. She shoved it into her jeans pocket as she walked back into the living room. Blew out a breath when Hero’s frenetic barking started up again. He hadn’t carried on this much since he treed an opossum last fall. She got a coat and jammed her feet into boots, letting herself out the kitchen door that led to the carport.

  As she continued past the car toward the Jeep, the motion lights mounted on the house switched on, illuminating her way. Hero was still raising havoc. Cady scanned the yard, trying to spot him.

  There. At the fence line on the other side of the drive. Her property butted up against an empty field that had been unused for as long as she’d lived here. It was the same area that had been the animal’s focus last night.

  Trepidation rose. Cady reached the rear fender of the Jeep, about to round the bumper when the dog bounded over to her. She leaned down, making a grab for his collar before the animal dodged away. A loud report sounded, and instinctively she hit the gravel drive, scrambling behind the front wheel well. Hero raced toward the fence, barking and lunging at something.

  She started to raise her head cautiously, intent on looking across the hood toward the neighboring property. There was another shot, followed by the sound of shattering glass from a nearby window.

  “Jesus. Hero!” She shouted for the dog futilely as she ducked, her fingers scrabbling for the cell in her pocket. Another bullet tore through the vehicle, exiting inches away from her. Cady huddled behind the axle as she punched in Ryder’s number. At the first sound of his sleepy voice, she said
urgently, “I’m under fire. High-powered rifle.” She stopped as several more shots riddled the Jeep. Glass sprayed down on her. She shook it off. “Shooter’s on the property east of mine.”

  To his credit, Ryder didn’t waste time on questions. “Be there in ten. I’ll try to get a car there sooner. Stay. Down.”

  She smiled grimly as she shoved the phone back in her pocket. Cady unwrapped her body until she was lying directly behind the Jeep’s front tire. Vehicles made notoriously poor cover. The best chance she had was putting the engine block or an axle between her and the shooter, then hoping for the best. She peered cautiously around the side of the wheel. There was a large fir situated about halfway across the field next door. The shooter was likely hiding behind it. She could see the dog was focused on that spot. She needed to get to the house and retrieve her weapon. She rose to a crouched position. Then flattened again when a volley of shots sprayed the Jeep and the house behind her.

  Her pulse hammered in her ears. Distantly, she heard a siren. Cady rolled to the other side of the tire so she could see beyond the vehicle, straining to glimpse signs of movement near the fir. Then terror gripped her. Hero had jumped the fence and was galloping toward the evergreen. She screamed for the dog.

  The neighboring property was unfenced in back and had the same thick stand of brush and volunteer trees bordering the rear as hers had. Cady rose to look over the Jeep’s hood. She was able to make out a silhouette moving quickly away from the fir toward the trees. She raced into the house and then sprinted back outside with her weapon. Cady was running toward the fence as a sheriff’s car crashed through the gate at the entrance of her drive.

  “It’s Maddix!” she yelled at the deputy lunging from the vehicle. “Shooter heading toward the southwest side of the property.” Her heart dropped when she saw Hero gaining ground as he galloped after the figure.

  She heard the deputy speaking into the radio as she reached the chain-link fence. It was ancient and not particularly sturdy. She bent it down far enough to climb over it and sped across the field. The shooter and the dog were lost from view in the wooded area.