Dangerous Tidings

by Dana Mentink

  Donna guided him to a table in the corner next to a bookcase. “If we start putting this gingerbread house together, I’m sure Tracy will come over to investigate.” She didn’t look very sure as she thrust a tube of frosting into his free hand. “How are you with construction plans?”

  “I’m a certified genius.”

  She laughed. “I suppose some extra confidence won’t hurt.”

  They tackled the pieces; she held while he glued. Each minute spent pressed shoulder to shoulder with her seemed to ease the tension from his body. Though his heart ached for Tracy, something about being near Donna soothed him. By the time the structure was standing, Tracy had returned with tearstained cheeks, holding her grandmother’s hand, watching the proceedings.

  “This is Mr. Mitchell,” Donna said. “He’s come to help us with the gingerbread house.”

  “You can call me Brent,” he said, holding the tube out to her. “Want to take over?”

  She stayed silent, hiding her face against her grandmother’s leg. JeanBeth settled into a card chair and hoisted Tracy onto her lap. “We’ll just watch for a while.”

  Brent glued dutifully, keeping Tracy in his peripheral vision. When they got to the fun part, sticking on the candy, he saw Tracy’s interest pique as she tried to peer into the paper bags to see what types of candy they contained.

  “I’m going to go outside and play with Radar for a while.” He left the tube of frosting at the edge of the table near Tracy and let himself out into the backyard. As he did, he saw Tracy approaching the table.

  There was a flurry of activity as Angela grabbed her phone and began to take pictures of Tracy and Donna decorating the house. He breathed a sigh. At least something was going right for the kid. As many losses as she’d suffered, she was blessed to have three aunties and a grandma to help her through it. Blessed? Had he really come up with that word by himself?

  Radar was busily investigating the tangle of bushes along the whitewashed fence. When Brent stepped out, he stopped his sniffing, racing over to bask in a good tummy scratch. Brent picked up a tennis ball from the bucket he figured Donna had brought and lobbed it toward the fence. Radar took off, pouncing on the ball and immediately sitting down to maul it.

  “Bring it back, you slacker,” he yelled.

  Radar eyed him complacently and continued his slobbery work.

  Brent tried with two more balls and no better success. Radar now had three tennis balls between his front paws and he alternated between licking them and fussing over them like a mother hen over her chicks.

  “Why doesn’t he bring ’em back?” came a small voice at his elbow.

  Brent whipped around. Tracy was there. Donna watched from the porch.

  “I don’t know.” Brent took a knee, careful not to crowd the child. “He’s my sister’s dog. She’s been trying to teach him to fetch for years, but he just won’t do it.”

  “You should tell your sister he doesn’t want to.”

  “I think you’re right.” He swallowed. “I’ll tell her when I see her.”

  “Okay.”

  Tracy looked as though she wanted to play with Radar, but instead she edged back toward the house.

  A sudden inspiration occurred to him. Brent took three balls from the bucket. “Maybe I should teach him this instead.” He began to juggle the balls.

  Tracy’s mouth fell open and her face split into a smile. “I wish I could do that.”

  “I can teach you sometime, if you want.”

  She cocked her head, and he wondered if he had said something wrong again, tried too hard. The scary man trying to befriend a child he’d upset.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “Can I play with the dog?”

  “Sure. His name is Radar, but don’t expect him to bring back any tennis balls.”

  Tracy scampered off to pet Radar, who was happy to leave his ball collection to play with her. Donna moved to his side. “Where’d you learn to juggle?”

  “My dad. I started with scarves and worked my way up to pineapples. I’m very entertaining at parties. You should see what I can do with bowling pins.”

  “I can imagine.”

  There were so many worries circling around in his head, whirling around like the juggled balls. He knew he should tell her about the encounter with Jeff Kinsey at his boat, but he was distracted as the emerging moonlight caught her hair. Inside, strains of off-key Christmas carols started up and he heard JeanBeth laugh. Tracy squealed as Radar licked her chin. Donna watched her niece with a look of inexpressible tenderness. Later, he told himself. Let her have her moment of Christmas joy.

  He realized that a tiny flicker of that feeling was bouncing around in his heart, too.

  Christmas joy. His sister would be proud, if she were only there to see it. Swallowing against a thickening in his throat, he followed Donna back inside.

  * * *

  They squeezed around the tiny table, eating a turkey that was only a little too dry and enjoying plenty of cider and conversation. The gingerbread house was a triumph, at least in Tracy’s eyes, and that was really all that mattered, Donna thought. Tracy did not seem to mind that it leaned a bit on the starboard side. Each tradition forced bittersweet emotions to the surface. Dad was not there to carve the turkey or offer a sparkling-cider toast or swing Tracy up on his shoulders so she could touch the tippy-top of the Christmas tree. Wrapped in each tradition was heartache and loss, and the evening produced many tears. Along with the anguish, there were clasped hands, fierce hugs, unskilled singing and blobs of whipped cream on hot cocoa. Somehow they staggered through and Donna’s emotions had run the gamut by the time nine o’clock rolled around.

  With Donna manning the sink and Brent the dishtowel, the holiday mess was soon cleared away. She craved a moment of quiet to soothe her frazzled nerves, so she stepped outside, breathing in the clean Coronado air. The cloud-draped sky promised a storm coming, which lent a chill to the air. The weather reports predicted it would be a big one. Leaves rattled in the palms and rippled through the thick hedge of shrubs that framed the yard.

  Radar, exhausted from playing with Tracy, lay with his head on his big paws, resting.

  Donna sighed, reaching out for a chair when a gleam of white caught her attention. Something in the shrubs. She walked closer to investigate when Radar suddenly shot to his feet barking and charged past her toward the bushes. The white gleam came into focus. Jeff Kinsey’s face. She screamed.

  SIXTEEN

  Kinsey grabbed her arm and started to drag her to the side gate. Radar barked and lunged. Donna tried to break Kinsey’s hold, but his fingers dug into the tendons of her wrist. She kicked out and got him in the side of the shin, but he held on. Dropping to her knees, she hoped the dead weight would slow him as she continued to scream.

  He hauled her toward the gate, kicking out at Radar, who grabbed at his sleeve and tugged with all his might. Their efforts slowed him for just long enough. Brent exploded out the back door and hurled himself on top of Jeff.

  Jeff went down hard on the grass. They rolled around, grappling for a hold until Brent emerged victorious, rolling Jeff onto his stomach and kneeling between his shoulder blades.

  “Get off,” Jeff wheezed.

  “No way.”

  Angela raced over to them.

  “Get me a rope or duct tape,” Brent called to her. He looked at Donna. “Are you hurt?”

  Her shoulder throbbed and she rubbed at it. “No, rattled, is all.”

  Candace joined them and her face went slack with dismay. “I’m going to go sit with Tracy. She’s not asleep yet and I don’t want her to come outside and find this. I’ll call the police.”

  “Give me a minute,” Brent said. She looked at him questioningly.

  Brent’s eyes caught hers. “Time is running out for my
sister. I want to ask him some questions. I may never get the chance again.”

  Candace hesitated on the button. Her eyes shifted to her mother and sisters, asking the silent question. Was Brent Mitchell a man to be trusted? The seconds ticked by before she answered. “Okay. Five minutes, then I call.”

  Brent nodded. He looked at Donna. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

  A couple of slow stretches eased the pain in her shoulder. “I’m okay.” She clipped Radar onto the leash she’d left on the table and secured him.

  Brent hauled Jeff to his feet and planted him in a patio chair, then bound his hands and feet with duct tape. Jeff’s eyes were wide, lips wet with saliva. He coughed violently. Donna couldn’t help thinking the man was ill.

  “What are you gonna do to me?” he panted.

  Brent sat opposite him. “That’s not the way this is going to go. You are going to answer questions, not ask them.”

  Jeff’s mouth tightened and he went quiet.

  “Where is my sister?”

  He chewed his lip and rocked slightly in the chair, breathing rapidly.

  “Where is she?” Brent said.

  “I don’t know.” He coughed some more.

  “You’re lying. You’ve been following me and Donna, trying to find some money my sister left. You took her car. You know where she is.” He forced out the words. “Did you kill her?”

  Jeff squirmed in the chair. “Pauline was good to me. I’d never hurt her. She tried to help me get clean, got me a job. When I got into trouble, she even went to the private eye for help.”

  “My father.” Donna gasped. “What trouble?”

  He sucked in a breath. “I took some money.”

  “From Darius Fields?”

  Jeff’s eyes went round with fear. “Got beat up. Then he burned up my trailer.”

  “Darius did?”

  Jeff clamped his mouth closed. “Cops wouldn’t believe me. Pauline went to the private eye to see if he could dig up some proof. That trailer was all I had, man.”

  “What did you do to my sister?” Brent asked, voice coming close to a shout.

  “Nothing, I told you. She was my friend. Went to meet her on the beach. She was gonna give me a plane ticket and some cash to lie low for a while. We saw Darius’s car coming. She gave me her keys and I waited in the car, but it took too long.” He coughed, doubling over. “Took way too long and when I looked...” He sobbed. “I’ll never forget that rainbow scarf she was wearing.”

  “What?” Brent demanded. “What happened?”

  He cried, tears dripping off his unshaven chin. “After it happened, I didn’t know what to do. I waited a long time at the beach. Radar was running around, whining and barking and stuff. I couldn’t leave him there. I took him and left him at Open Vistas. I figured Harvey would take care of him. Later I left her car behind some sporting-goods store.”

  Brent was nearly wild now. “What happened to my sister, Jeff? You need to tell me right now.”

  He rocked back and forth. “I didn’t hurt her.”

  “You’re a liar, trying to blame it on Darius. All you are concerned about is your next fix.”

  “I know, okay?” he shouted. “I know. I’m a loser and a mess-up and I’ve lost everything I ever had. The only person who still believed I was worth anything was Pauline and I didn’t hurt her.”

  “Then who did?” Brent leaned closer. “What did you see on the beach, Jeff? You’ve got to tell me.”

  Donna watched the fear flicker up again. “You’re afraid of Darius. He did something to Pauline and you are afraid to finger him because he beat you up and burned your trailer. He found out my father was investigating him.”

  More coughing.

  “You’re not innocent in all this, are you?” Brent snapped. “Maybe you’re in it with Darius. Working with him somehow. You caused Bruce’s accident because you were covering for Darius, following orders.”

  Jeff’s eyes cleared for a moment. “I didn’t. I don’t even have a set of wheels.”

  “Your vehicle was the one that forced Bruce Gallagher’s car off the road. You killed him and injured Sarah Gallagher.”

  Jeff’s eyes popped. “No,” he screamed. “I haven’t driven that truck in months. Don’t have the money for gas or insurance, so I left it at the campground. Was gonna get it later.” He began to cry. “Aww, man.”

  Brent knelt to try to catch Jeff’s eye, but the man would not meet his gaze. “Jeff,” he said softly, “you’re right. My sister was the only one who believed in you, thought you were worth something, so tell me straight, for her sake. What happened to Pauline? What went down on the beach that day?”

  Jeff curled up, head bent low, and began to moan. His sobs turned into gasps for air as his eyes rolled back in his head and he went unconscious.

  * * *

  The night was a blur. Donna watched through a fog of confusion as Jeff Kinsey was put under arrest and transported by ambulance to the hospital. Brent stayed with the Gallaghers until late into the evening talking it over, twisting and turning the tidbits every which way until they were about to go nuts with it. The two questions stubbornly refused to be answered.

  Had Kinsey driven Bruce Gallagher and Sarah off the road?

  Where was Pauline?

  She knew Kinsey’s words were tormenting Brent. That rainbow scarf... I waited a long time... Brent pulled himself out of the chair just before eleven when there was a heavy knock on the door.

  Donna was thrilled to see Marco on the doorstep. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and greeted each woman with a fierce hug. It might have been Donna’s imagination, but she thought Marco’s embrace of Candace lasted a bit longer, his big hands clasping her tightly around the waist as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  He flicked a glance at Brent, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here, Coastie?”

  “He’s been chasing bad guys out of our backyard,” JeanBeth said. “So stop glowering.”

  Marco’s frown deepened, anyway. JeanBeth made him sit and poured him some coffee. “How was your trip?” she said, her voice gentle.

  He blinked, shifted in his chair, the mug of coffee small in his big hands. “Done. Let’s talk about the case.”

  Angela spelled it out with precise detail from the day Marco left to Jeff Kinsey’s bizarre confession in the backyard before he was arrested. Marco sat quietly, taking it all in.

  “So what’s your gut say, Coastie?”

  “I think Kinsey is telling the truth about most of it. Darius Fields is behind whatever happened to Pauline and Bruce.”

  Marco drank some coffee.

  “Well?” Brent demanded. “What’s your sage opinion?”

  Another swallow. “You’re wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “Kinsey’s an addict. You can’t trust an addict. Most likely he’s the guy.”

  “You haven’t even been here and you’ve got the case solved in ten minutes?” Brent said.

  Marco was implacable. “His car was put at the accident scene. He’s been at Pauline’s house, your boat, the Gallagher home. Every turn, he’s there.”

  “He fingered Darius.”

  Marco shrugged. “The word of an addict against the word of a gambler.”

  “He must be telling the truth about taking Radar to Open Vistas. The dog couldn’t get there by himself.”

  “That part might be true, but addicts are liars. Period. He wanted money for drugs and he’s desperate. That’s the only truthful part of his story.”

  “All right,” Brent said. “You’ve got it all figured out. What do you think happened?”

  “Pauline was helping Kinsey. Promised him money. He got impatient. Things went bad.”

  “Why cause the crash, then?” Donn
a said.

  “The kid knew she went to Bruce, probably because she had fears he would hurt her. Kinsey was starting to make demands, frighten her, and she wanted someone to keep an eye on him. Bruce nosed around, asking questions when Pauline didn’t show up to their meeting. Kinsey needed to stop those questions or he’d be fingered for her disappearance.”

  Brent got to his feet. “So, bottom-line it for me, Marco.”

  Marco stayed silent.

  Donna felt a thrill of dread.

  “Go ahead,” Brent said. “You’ve gone this far. Say it.”

  “I’m sorry, man, but the most likely scenario is that your sister is dead.” Though the words were hard, Marco’s face was soft with compassion. “Kinsey killed her on the beach, took her in the car and...” He cleared his throat. “Like I said, I’m sorry but I know if it was me, I’d want someone to tell me straight.”

  The room fell so quiet that Donna could hear the sound of water dripping from the kitchen faucet. They had probably all thought the same thing about Pauline’s fate many times, but to hear it stated so baldly cut deep. Brent did not flinch. Instead, he grabbed his coat.

  “Thank you for having me this evening, ladies. I appreciate your hospitality.” Then he was out the front door.

  Donna ran after him. Patters of rain dappled her face.

  “Wait, Brent,” she called.

  He did not slow. He got on his motorcycle and revved the engine, then reached for his helmet.

  “Brent,” she said again. “I’m sorry. That was terrible to hear. Marco has a lot of great qualities, but tact isn’t one of them.”

  His face was stony, shoulders stiff. “It’s what you’ve all been thinking, anyway,” he said. “Right? What everyone in that room thinks?”

  She could not lie. Instead, she gripped his biceps. “There’s still room for hope.”

  “That’s what I tell myself, but I’ve always preferred action to hope.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know yet.”

  “I’m praying that we find Pauline safe and sound.”

  He looked away for a moment. “I’d better go. It’s late.”