"I need to know who owns this property." I handed Riley an address.
"Why?" He took the address from me.
Was he joking? "Why? Because I've paid you a retainer to work for me."
He waved me off. "Sorry, I meant why as in, what's the story here?"
I filled him in on my visit to Ella's and following Mordecai home. I mentioned the security measures he had in place on the house.
"That tracker worked?" Riley pulled out his cell and scowled. "I've never had any luck with that. It craps out on me at the worst times."
I put my feet up on his desk. "You need the upgrade." I looked around. "Why are you here so late?"
Riley relaxed back into his chair. "I'm working."
"Where's Claire?" I asked.
"Look for yourself." He pointed at her desk.
I walked over and noticed that the usually minimalist desk had a skull on it. The business card clenched between its teeth was from the Chapel of Despair.
"She's gone druid?" I ran my fingers over the skull. "I thought she was smarter than that."
Riley shrugged. "She went over yesterday and came back with that. She's back there again today."
I needed to ask Stewie what was going on. Claire was a catch that group didn't really deserve.
Riley began typing away. I took a granola bar from his desk and began munching. Ugh. How did he eat this cardboard stuff? I was starting to regret not taking the risk of having the cheesecake at Ella's.
"I don't know why you eat this boring, flavorless food."
"Because it's healthy," Riley answered without taking his eyes off the screen.
"I know it's healthy." I smoothed out the wrapper. I could actually pronounce the ingredients, which was depressing. "I just asked why it tastes so bad. You'd think they'd throw in some sugar or something…"
"That would defeat the whole purpose of it being healthy," Riley said. "Sugar is way more addictive than nicotine or alcohol. Did you know that?"
I tossed the wrapper into the garbage can. "Because sugar is awesome!" Sugar was my favorite food group.
"Okay, it looks like it is owned by Mordecai Brown." He squinted at the monitor. "I can't tell if it's his primary address or not though."
"That's all I needed to know. Maybe it was a dead end."
"It's something. As you well know, all these little bits of information can come together in the end to form a big picture."
I glared at him. "Yes. I know that. You and I were both trained by the same agency."
Riley ignored my jibe. "I did find out that the laptops are stolen. Kind of."
"Kind of? How do you kind of steal a laptop?" I asked.
He pulled out the box from under his desk and pointed at the label. "That serial number is listed as being currently in the inventory at Best Bye. They don't know it's missing, so they haven't reported it stolen."
"But it is. I mean, it's not in their inventory, unless by their inventory you mean a dead employee's basement."
Riley steepled his fingers. "It could mean that Neil is in on it. Maybe he killed Tyson so that he wouldn't have to share the profits?"
Argh! "We have a lot of suspects and motives, but we still don't know for sure what happened."
Riley cocked his head to one side. "Well, officially, you murdered Tyson for unknown reasons. And then you kidnapped Malone so that he couldn't testify." He smiled. "But that's just conjecture from the Bladdersly PD."
I got up and started to pace. "So here's what we have. Tyson could have been murdered by Mordecai because Mordecai wrote Boats of the Midwest, Tyson knew that and blackmailed him. It's also possible that Vanderzee helped Mordecai kill Tyson. Vanderzee and someone were spotted in the alley at the time of the murder."
"Or." Riley held a finger up. "Neil killed Tyson over the laptop heist."
"Or"—I paused—"Tyson wrote Boats and was killed for that by anyone in the town who recognized themselves in it."
"Maybe this wasn't connected to the book?" Riley wondered.
"It's possible." I shrugged. "I do think that the pastor's kidnapping was connected to Tyson's murder, which makes Vanderzee the most likely suspect. He either coerced Malone to make a false statement…"
"Or," Riley interjected, "Vanderzee invented the false statement and Malone found out."
"But Mordecai could still be in on the whole thing." I sat back down. "But if Neil killed Tyson, why would Mordecai and Vanderzee pin this on me—someone they don't even know?"
Riley shook his head. "Not a clue. There are too many variables involved." He stood up and stretched. "I think I'll need to sleep on it."
"Riley, we don't have much time. Vanderzee could bring me in at any moment."
"Then I suggest." Riley put his hands on my shoulders. "That you keep thinking." He shut off the computer and ushered me toward the door. "I've got a hot date tonight."
"I thought you said you needed to sleep on it," I complained as he pushed me out the door.
"Yes." He grinned as he locked up. "But I didn't say I'd be doing that alone."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Rex had homemade macaroni and cheese waiting for me when I got home. He heated up a plate for me, and even though he'd already eaten, he sat at the table. We chatted a little about the case, but I think Rex noticed that my mind was elsewhere. He didn't press the matter the whole time we cleaned up or even when we went to bed. My husband understood how I thought. Which was either awesome or scary.
Lying in bed, I just couldn't sleep. The pressure of solving this case and hoping Pastor Malone was still alive bore down on me like a rabid hippopotamus with anger issues. I tossed and turned but couldn't put two and two together.
When thinking doesn't work, I've always considered action a solid substitute. I needed to do something. Lying here wasn't helping me in any way. Without turning on the lights or making a sound, I got dressed and slipped out of the house to my property across the street.
I'd recently acquired a fanny pack that had a secret compartment for my gun. It had a hidden rip cord that would expose the gun for a quick draw. And I'd need it tonight. Because tonight, I was going to check out Mordecai's house. There was something very wrong with that place. I just didn't know what it was. And because I am me, I was going to go alone…like an idiot.
The house was pitch dark outside and in. The truck wasn't in the driveway, but it could be in the garage. I crept along the edge of the cornfield, hugging the covering foliage, going slowly so that I wouldn't make any noise. A light went on in the basement, drawing me up short. I waited and listened. There was a partially opened window that was covered by what I guessed to be an opaque film.
The sounds of a man softly sobbing floated to me on the breeze. Was it Pastor Malone? If so, it meant he was still alive, which was a relief. But was he alone?
It is never a good idea to underestimate your opponent. Just when you think you've got them on the ropes, they can charge you with a curling iron. And then where would you be? With burn marks on your arms and an unnatural fear of hair-styling implements.
And yes, I'd had some experience with that. Never trust a hairdresser in Turkmenistan. Especially when they are the dictator's mistress. Well, one of them anyway. Yuliana had pouted and made me believe she was resigned to getting busted. And I'd almost bought it too. Right up until I saw her hand move toward her styling station.
I still had one scar from it. Which is why, to this day, I just wash and drip-dry my naturally curly short hair.
There were no other voices that I could hear. Just the man crying. I needed to get up to that window and see what I was up against. It was a run in the open to get from the cornfield to the house, and there was the risk that the motion sensitive security measures were on. But I needed to chance it. It would be pretty stupid if they weren't, considering that Mordecai seemed to have a kidnap victim in there. But I wasn't going to criticize his idiocy since it would work in my favor.
Pastor Malone was the one person who coul
d drop the case against me. As the main witness, who obviously had no clue who I was, he could explain that I wasn't the one who he'd seen that night. I was pretty sure I was dumped in the shed after the fact. After the killer murdered Tyson.
There was no other way in, other than landing on the roof and deactivating the security from above, but I was fresh out of helicopters. So I ran for it. Hopefully, I could dart to the house unseen. No lights came on outside, which was a huge relief. Within seconds, I was plastered against the siding. After catching my breath, I got down on all fours and crawled over to the window.
Very slowly, I eased forward to see what I could and assess the situation. I could just see through the slightly open window.
"No!" Malone wailed at something out of my line of vision. "Please! I won't tell anyone!"
He was seated in a chair across the room, facing me. His hands were behind his back, and his eyes were red from sobbing. And he was very clearly staring at someone. The elderly man looked exhausted and terrified.
I drew back. He wasn't alone. Was it Mordecai? Vanderzee? Both? It was possible that I could not only rescue Malone, but I could also nab the real killer. My heart pounded with excitement. I could save the pastor and myself in one shot.
My fingers brushed my fanny pack. The rip cord was ready to go, and my pistol was fully loaded. I was armed and ready. And I had the element of surprise on my side. The killer wouldn't see me coming. Yay!
"Please!" Pastor Malone's voice had an edge of desperation to it. "I won't say anything! You have to believe me!"
Whoever he was with mumbled back an unintelligible reply. I had no idea who it was. It didn't matter because soon I'd find out. I don't like people who kidnap and torment innocents. And whoever this was would feel the great rage that was welling up inside of me.
Malone shrieked, and I took the risk of looking again. He was sweating, eyes wide as he stared at whoever threatened him.
It was go time. If I waited any longer, the killer could silence the old man forever, leaving me without a witness and the town of Bladdersly without a beloved, retired pastor—which, of course, was the most important thing. I pulled out my cell, but just my luck, it was dead. There was a charger in the van, but I couldn't drive the van into the house. I'd just have to juice it when I got back into the van. At least I had a gun. I gave myself points for that.
I slipped around the house to the front door and gingerly climbed the two concrete steps. The door was slightly ajar, as if the killer wanted to make an easy getaway. It was totally possible that he was here to kill Malone. Tonight. I needed to act fast.
I tiptoed into the house, leaving the door ajar. It was very dark. The only light was a glimmer beneath a door at the other end of the room. That had to be the door to the basement, which meant that I would be walking over the ceiling to get there. If I wasn't careful, the bad guy would hear me. And I didn't want that.
Crossing over a floor above someone you want to take by surprise isn't easy. In fact, during our training at the Farm, the CIA had told us that if you had to, shoot through the floor on your way over it. This was never a good idea if you didn't know who was in the room below. And it wouldn't work tonight because an innocent was down there.
I had a good idea of where Malone was tied up, but I wasn't sure. There was another option. I could go back outside and run around to the back of the house to see if there was another way in. But that would take time.
I needed a distraction. Something that would startle but not alarm my target. But what would that be, here in rural Iowa? I didn't have a lot of hope that a cow would bust in and walk around.
Mrrrrowwww.
A cat began purring and winding around my legs. I looked down and, in the dim light, spotted the same eyes that had been under Tyson's bed. Effie! The cat was Mordecai's?
Effie and I stared at each other just as we had under Tyson's bed at the duplex. She was interested in me. And that gave me an idea.
"Squeeeeeeeak!"
My impression of a terrified mouse was pretty good. Then I scooped up Effie and tossed her halfway across the room. She landed on her feet, thankfully, gave me a dirty look, and galloped away.
And as she did so, I ran after her as silently as possible. The basement door was now next to me. And if it all had gone as I'd hoped, Mordecai downstairs believed his cat was after a mouse.
Grasping the doorknob, I turned it. Locked. And even worse, it squeaked. Loudly. Damn.
The pastor screamed below, and I heard what sounded like furniture being tossed aside.
Oh well. No time like the present. If I died here, at least I did so clearing my name, provided I managed to help the pastor escape.
Yanking on the rip cord to my fanny pack, my fingers closed on the gun grip as I reared back and kicked the door in. Did you know that doors have a weak spot? Would you believe that it's where the lock is? Don't ask me why. I'm no physics major.
The door crashed against the wall, and I flew down the stairs, gun drawn. No one was there but Pastor Malone, who appeared to be unconscious. At the other end of the room was a small flight of stairs. And at the top was a cellar door, flung open to the night.
I could go after the killer, and maybe I'd even catch up with him. But the way the pastor sagged had me worried.
"Pastor Malone!" I shook his shoulders gently.
He groaned. That was a good sign. I spotted a knife on the floor near me and grabbed it. Without looking, I cut through the rope around his hands, with my eyes and most of my attention on the open cellar doors. Just because Mordecai had run off didn't mean he wouldn't come back to surprise me.
In fact, if he was smart, he'd come back and shoot us both. Then the elderly man in the chair couldn't rat him out.
The man's hands reached up for his head, and he groaned. After a moment, he looked at me, confused.
"Who are you?" His eyes were unfocused, as if he'd been drugged.
"I'm Merry Wrath Ferguson," I explained as I ran across the room and slammed the cellar doors shut. It probably wouldn't stop Mordecai, but it would give me a few seconds' advantage.
He squinted at me. "Who?"
I knelt down so that he could see my face clearly. "Merry Wrath. The woman you allegedly saw take Tyson into the shed." I helped him to his feet. His knees creaked.
"No, you're not." Malone's eyes were focusing on my face.
I spoke gently so as not to alarm him. "Yes, I am. And I'm here to help you."
Taking my gun back out of the fanny pack, I asked, "Can you walk? My van isn't far."
But Pastor Malone was staring at the pistol as his skin went pale.
"It's okay," I insisted. "I'm here to help you! Can you walk?"
After another glance at my face, he nodded. "I'll try."
I had no idea how long the man had been stuck in that chair, but his legs were a little wobbly. Malone hung on to my arm as we made our way across to the stairs. Gradually, he got his legs back.
This was the man with the eyesight of an eagle and the brain of a twenty-year-old? It made me wonder. Either Malone was in shock, weakened from drugs or torture, or he really was feeble. Had Mordecai told the pastor it was me he'd seen that night? And had he lied to me about his ableness?
I wanted to confirm that his captor was his employer, but he was concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other that an interrogation seemed a bit unimportant.
Besides, we had to get up the stairs and out of the house. And then we had to worry about being ambushed by the killer out in the darkness. No. I'd better keep my head in the game. For both of us.
After a brief struggle, we managed to get the man up the stairs. As he caught his breath, I had him wait near the door as I ran through the house, or at least the ground floor, to make sure it was empty. There was no time to really reflect on my surroundings. There was just one room on either side of the hall and a kitchen in the back.
After clearing the house, I went back and helped Malone to the front door.
A table stood next to the doorway with a stuffed animal on it. I flung open the door and threw the toy into the yard and waited.
Nothing happened. No flood lights came on, and there wasn't any gunfire. Hopefully, that meant the killer had fled. And that was fine because I was driving Pastor Malone to the hospital in Who's There, where he could tell Sheriff Carnack everything.
It seemed to take forever to cross the yard and head into the corn and back to my car. I kept my gun ready, which got a little easier as the pastor's mobility improved. Neither one of us spoke. Me, because I didn't want to tip off an ambush. Him, because he was concentrating on moving.
Once I got him into the passenger seat and buckled him up, I looked in the back seat to make sure I didn't have any unwanted killers in the car, and then I got in and started driving. Pastor Malone passed out, slumped forward, restrained by his seat belt. I felt for a pulse in his neck. He was alive, but weak.
On the way to town, I charged my cell, called Sheriff Carnack, and told him what had happened. He said he'd be there right away.
He beat me to the hospital.
"I understand you've been hiding out?" Carnack looked at me dubiously as he watched the nurses and doctor take Malone away on a gurney. My fingertips brushed my fanny pack to make sure the gun was hidden once again.
I slumped against a wall. "I haven't jumped bail, if that's what you mean."
"You have left town though." Sheriff Carnack looked me over.
The adrenaline was gone, and I was spent. "Technically, I haven't. I mean, I live in Who's There, but the crime was committed in Bladdersly, so both towns count, and the place where I found the pastor was between the two."
Ed Carnack sighed heavily. "Well, hopefully Pastor Malone can clear you of his kidnapping."
I held up one finger. "And of Tyson's murder." I told him about casually running into him on my way to pawn some things and how Malone hadn't recognized me. "And he didn't have any idea who I was when I rescued him either. Which means his witness statement falls apart."
Mind-Bending Murder Page 20
