Mike’s butt hadn’t even hit his chair before Nancy appeared in the doorway with a whole-grain bagel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
“Figured you didn’t eat before going to the morgue.”
“Thanks.” Mike’s stomach rumbled, and his head ached from lack of sleep. He kept glancing at the door, expecting to see Fred come in with a pink slip. “Is there coffee?”
“Not for you there isn’t.” His secretary picked up a pile of signed forms from his outbox. “Think I haven’t noticed the gallon of antacid in your drawer?”
Mike sighed and twisted the cap off the water bottle. “Anything important happen this morning?”
“No. There was a minor accident on Main Street, two ten-year-olds set off firecrackers behind the school, and we had a barking dog complaint. You hogged all the excitement. Wish I could’ve seen Miss Parker lay Will out.” She made a punching gesture with one liver-spotted fist.
“It was a sight.” But Mike worried that Will’s ego could prompt him to seek retribution.
Nancy tilted her head and stared at him like she was working her daily crossword puzzle.
“What?”
“Is Fred right?” she asked. “Do you have something going on with her?”
That was a damned good question, and he didn’t ask how she knew about the clandestine council meeting. Nancy knew everything. She’d been secretary to the chief of police for almost thirty years, and Mike was convinced the church ladies’ organization she belonged to was more effective than a covert intelligence agency.
“I’m not sure.”
“You’d better give it some thought. You’re not getting any younger.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.”
“Oh, stop.” She waved off his comment. “You’re alone too much. A man your age should have something in his life besides work.”
Mike couldn’t argue with that. “Rachel is…difficult.”
“Easy is boring. Any woman who flattens Will Martin’s family jewels gets my vote. Your mother was no pushover.”
“No, she wasn’t.” His mom had hung tough right up till the end.
“Lord, if you’re going to have any kids, you’d better get a move on.” Nancy punctuated the statement with an emphatic nod. “You are not getting any younger.”
Mike choked on his water.
Ethan popped his head in, bright and eager as a puppy with a ball. “It’s a good day when we get to arrest Will Martin.”
“Don’t get too excited. I’m sure he’ll be out on bail pretty quick,” Mike warned.
Ethan’s enthusiasm couldn’t be dimmed. “So, what’d the ME say?”
Mike waved Ethan toward a chair and pulled the photo of the high school ring up on his phone. “They found this under the body.”
Ethan looked at the picture, then passed the phone back. “That should narrow things down.”
“I’m going to need you to start pulling missing person’s reports. We’ll start with 1980 through 1990. Cross-reference with the graduating class of 1973. Assuming the ring belonged to the victim, this can’t be that hard. Westbury High only graduates like a hundred kids a year.” Mike lifted the bagel. “Most of our missing persons are runaways. Except for the occasional errant spouse, not many middle-aged adults disappear.”
“Ah, Chief?” Ethan interrupted, his zeal visibly diming. “Records before 1990 were stored in the basement of the municipal building.”
“Ugh.” Mike had forgotten. Everything in town hall’s basement was toast. Soggy toast. What the fire hadn’t torched, the water had trashed.
“Actually, only closed cases were kept over there,” Nancy corrected. “If the body just turned up, this case is technically cold, not closed. We should have the file in the back room.”
Ethan rose.
“Did you say the 1980s?” Nancy leaned over Mike’s shoulder. “What did Greg have to say?”
“Victim was a middle-aged Caucasian male.”
Nancy stared at the photo of the ring. “Oh, my goodness. I’ll bet you found that missing carpenter.”
“Excuse me?”
“His name was…” Nancy put one hand on her hip, the other on her chin, and looked up as if the answer were written on the dropped ceiling tiles. “Boyle. Harry Boyle. He disappeared in the late eighties. Phil Bitten had just been hired as chief. It was his first big case, and the case itself was very strange. Boyle vanished under very unusual circumstances. Phil worked that case for months but got nowhere.”
“I’ll go look for that file.” Ethan headed for the door.
In the outer office, a phone rang. Nancy followed Ethan out. “Files from the eighties are stored in the cabinets on the far left wall. They’re clearly labeled.”
Of course they were.
Ethan returned minutes later, flapping a manila file folder in one hand. He handed the file to Mike. “Got it.”
Mike scanned the initial report. Harry Boyle was a Caucasian male of average height.
“Give the ME a call. Let’s see if we can confirm our victim’s ID.”
Once Ethan was dispatched with his next chore, Mike flipped through pages, his instincts waking to the oddities of the case.
Harry disappeared in February of 1987. The night of his disappearance, his house had burned to the ground. The cause of the fire was listed officially as accidental. Harry had been renovating. The place had been cluttered with containers of flammable chemicals, and Harry Boyle had been a smoker. With no close neighbors, by the time firefighters responded to a call from a passing motorist, the entire place was nearly consumed. It wasn’t until the fire investigators went through the rubble that they realized Harry’s body wasn’t inside.
With no body, murder hadn’t been assumed, though the police hadn’t found any reason a gainfully employed, reportedly content carpenter would abandon everything he owned and take off. Except for a reasonable mortgage on his house, Harry hadn’t been in any debt. Payments on the house were current. No evidence of gambling debts or drug use had been discovered, and his Jeep was missing from the undamaged detached garage.
Could that be the same Jeep they’d pulled from Lost Lake? Mike made a notation to have Ethan find out.
Mike flipped through several pages of notes. The unease burrowing into his gut went ballistic.
There was no way this could be a coincidence.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mike looked up as Nancy stuck her head through the doorway. Worry thinned her lips, and anger hardened her eyes. Something was up. Something bad. “Fred’s here to see you.”
She moved aside, and the mayor darkened Mike’s doorway. Fred slunk into the office, shutting the door behind him. Mike closed the Boyle file and set it aside.
Fred stood on the opposite side of Mike’s desk. “Will Martin claims you roughed him up and threatened him. He’s suing you and the town.”
“You believe Will Martin?”
“What I believe isn’t important. You’ve already shown your judgment in this case is clouded by your personal feelings for Miss Parker. If you apologize to Will Martin and get her to drop the charges against him, he’ll withdraw his lawsuit.”
“One, I’m not apologizing to Martin. That would imply guilt, and I haven’t done anything.” Mike held the mayor’s gaze. “Second, this is my department. Not only will we encourage Miss Parker to file charges, we will continue to protect her. She’s in danger. The last time we had a violent predator on the loose, a woman died. Remember?”
Fred shifted his eyes to the wall over Mike’s head. “Then we have no choice but to suspend you until the council can conduct a thorough review of your actions.”
Mike didn’t move for a minute, waiting for the news to hit him, but the moment was surreal. Even though he’d known this was coming, he was unable to process the actuality. Mike stood. He reached for his hip, pulling his gun from its hip holster. He unloaded the weapon and set it on the desk. He dropped his badge next to it on the blotter.
&
nbsp; “You’d give up your job for her?”
Apparently, he would. Without hesitation. “I’m disappointed in you, Fred.”
The mayor flushed. “You’re the one who broke the rules.”
“Really? Are you sure about that? Or is Vince using you? Have you asked yourself why he wants me out of this office so badly?”
Fred’s bony face flushed. He clenched his sagging jaw and stared out the window.
Mike grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Ignoring the town-issued SUV, he walked the half dozen blocks to his house. The sun still heated his back, but a damp breeze warned of the incoming rain. He walked through the front door directly to the bedroom and shed his uniform in exchange for jeans and a T-shirt. Next he opened the gun vault in his closet. His personal piece, a nine millimeter Glock nearly identical to his service weapon, filled the empty holster on his belt. A loose hoodie concealed the weapon. Just because he’d been suspended didn’t mean he wasn’t going to protect Rachel. He’d always followed the rules, and look where that had gotten him. He was suspended while the guy who was willing to fight dirty was still sitting on the town council. Vince was up to something. Sean was right. But what? And why was it so important to get Mike out of the picture?
Only one way to find out. The hell with the rules. He typed out a quick text to Sean.
The answer came back almost immediately.
Next question. How was Rachel connected to a twenty-five-year-old murder? If the dates of Harry’s disappearance were correct, she was about six when he was killed. If only Mike had had the time to completely review the file.
Mike’s phone buzzed. Nancy. Mike put the cell to his ear.
“We just got a call from the Parker farm. Thought you’d want to know. Pete’s on duty, but he’s doing a drive-by at Lost Lake. Fred’s orders. It’ll take him a little while to get out there.”
“Thanks, Nancy.” Mike grabbed a jacket, jogged into the garage, and stopped at the sight of his disassembled Mustang. “Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nancy, I don’t want you to do anything that jeopardizes your job.”
“I’m thinking of retiring anyway. Might as well start a mutiny on my way out. I’m not working for Fred. That’s for sure. What do you need?”
“A car.”
“I knew you wouldn’t just walk away.” Pride came through her voice. “I’ll be there in a few.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.”
“I know.” Nancy chuckled.
Her white LeSabre pulled up in front of Mike’s house in six minutes. Nancy got out. “Don’t let anything happen to that girl of yours.”
He opened his mouth to deny that she was his, but the words wouldn’t come out. Mike slid behind the wheel.
She stepped up onto the sidewalk. “Now go. I’ll walk back.”
Mike pulled away from the curb. Suspension his ass. He’d be fired before the week was out. He could feel it with the same certainty that the green blotch on the weather map meant flooding was on the way. At the corner, he turned left, away from town and toward Rachel’s farm.
Was she really OK? And how would she react when he dropped the bomb about the identity of the skeleton?
Rachel backed away inches at a time. Her heart galloped away at the pace her feet wanted to follow.
“I don’t have Mike’s number, so I called the police station.” Sarah stepped out of the minivan. “Stay inside, girls.” She closed the vehicle door.
Rachel didn’t respond. She was busy fighting her instinct to run like hell. Her legs were shaking with the effort of going slow. The swarm was circling. Her skin itched as the insane buzzing grew louder. Pulse pounding, she slid a sneaker another two inches backward on the grass. Even with her EpiPen, one sting could send her to the ER.
How many bees were in that swarm? A hundred. More than enough to kill her before she ever got to the hospital, that was for sure.
Rachel continued to backpedal in super slow motion. The bees didn’t seem to notice her, but she was sweating by the time she reached her sister’s vehicle.
“Are you all right?” Inside the minivan with the door securely closed, Sarah scanned Rachel’s face and arms.
“I’m fine.”
“No stings?”
Rachel took stock. “Not a single one.”
“Thank God,” Sarah exhaled.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t be here.”
“That’s ridiculous. They’re not even near the house.” Equal parts relief and nausea flooded Rachel. She leaned her head against the window. A faint tap startled her. She jolted upright and turned. On the other side of the glass, two bees hovered inches from her face.
“No way. Too risky.” Sarah started the engine.
The insects buzzed around the side mirror, and Rachel wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans.
A white four-door pulled into the drive. Mike was behind the wheel. He lowered his window. Sarah shook her head. Rachel dug her cell out of her pocket and dialed Mike’s number.
He answered the call. “What happened?”
Through the minivan’s side window, Rachel watched the lines around his mouth deepen as she explained the situation.
“How allergic are you?”
“Allergic enough.”
“You’re sure you didn’t get stung?” Concern creased his face.
“Positive. I’m still breathing.”
The worry lines deepened to trenches for a minute before Mike’s face smoothed out. “Wonderful. I’ll call someone to collect those bees. Any idea how they got there?”
“I assume someone left them for me.”
A police cruiser pulled into the drive.
“I’ll call you.” Mike hung up. The cruiser pulled up next, and both men stepped out of their vehicles. The lieutenant, with his short, square body, was the sidekick to Mike’s superhero.
Wait. Mike wasn’t in uniform. And why wasn’t he driving his township SUV? He must have been fired—because of her.
Sarah turned the minivan toward Mrs. Holloway’s house. Rachel sank into the passenger seat with the knowledge that she’d hurt yet another good man. Her life was sinking fast. She had no business dragging him down with her.
Mike stood next to his lieutenant watching the elderly beekeeper don protective white coveralls a few yards away.
“So you’re saying that whoever left this box here did it intentionally, knowing that Miss Parker was allergic to bees.” Pete propped his hands on his hips.
“Only thing that makes sense.”
“That’s creepy.” Pete’s jowls quivered as he shook his head.
The beekeeper zipped up his suit and walked over to the bees. He had a spray bottle in one hand and a white box in the other. He set the box on the ground, then moved a few feet away and sprayed the air, letting the mist drift over the bees on the wind. A few minutes later, bee guy returned to the driveway. He pulled off the big hood, revealing a sun-spotted, wrinkled face. “It looks like someone broke a chunk of a hive off and stuffed it into the mailbox. What kind of a person would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.” Mike’s instincts were coiling tighter and tighter.
“A sicko, that’s who.” Pete adjusted his utility belt under his paunch.
Someone had tried to kill Rachel in a very devious way. What if she’d been stung numerous times? Would she have even survived?
The beekeeper nodded seriously. “It’s terrible. This close to winter, the entire hive will probably die. Those bees will have no time to repair the damage.”
Mike had no words. Pete coughed.
The beekeeper lowered the mesh screen over his face. “It shouldn’t take me too long to capture these bees. They’re disoriented and, hopefully, will go for the food right away. I’ll save as many as I can.”
“We’ll leave you to it, then.” Mike turned away and took a few steps. The sight of Nancy’s Buick, and the emptiness in his chest, re
minded him that he wasn’t in charge anymore. “I’m sorry, Pete.”
“It’s all right. I don’t like this any more than you do. The mayor better give this some hard thought. Nancy is pissed.” Pete scratched his neck. “I’m going to interview Miss Parker now. Will you come along? I read over the file the other day, but you know the situation much better than I do.”
Mike grinned. “You sure you want to risk irritating Fred?”
“He can’t fire us all.”
Pete followed Mike to Mrs. Holloway’s farmhouse. They climbed the wide steps to the freshly swept porch. Mrs. Holloway opened the door before Mike could knock.
“Michael, please come in.” The older woman stepped aside and ushered them into the hall. At less than five feet tall, she was just as imposing as when she’d taught him in fourth grade. Back then, her curls had been more brown than gray and her frame more substantial.
“Rachel’s in the kitchen.” Mrs. Holloway’s veined hand grasped Mike’s forearm. “You’re going to keep her safe, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mike answered.
The older woman nodded, relieved. “Good.” She patted his arm and whispered, “I know she comes off as brusque, but down deep, Rachel is a total softie.”
Pete scraped his boots on the mat. They passed the living room, where Sarah and her girls were working a puzzle. In the kitchen, Rachel sat at the long farmhouse table. She clutched a mug in her hands.
“Do either of you want tea?” Mrs. Holloway asked.
“No, ma’am,” Mike and Pete answered in unison.
“Then, I’ll leave you to it.” Mrs. Holloway left the room.
Mike took the seat next to Rachel. “I have to tell you that I’ve been suspended. Lieutenant Winters is taking over your case.”
Clearly uncomfortable, Pete elected to stand behind one of the ladder-back chairs. “Miss Parker.”
Rachel looked up, her face bleak as she nodded her acknowledgement.
She Can Tell Page 20
