Dark Powers

by Rebecca York

  “If she ran away, it doesn’t look like she took her clothes,” Ben commented.

  “Or her makeup or jewelry,” Sage added.

  She crossed to the bed with the stuffed animals and picked up a brown bear wearing a cheerleader’s uniform and carrying pom-poms.

  “I gave this to her when she made the cheerleading squad in high school. She loved it. I don’t think she would have just left it here if she was planning to take off.”

  “Yeah,” Ben agreed.

  He opened some of the dresser drawers and looked under tee shirts and shorts.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking for drugs.”

  “She doesn’t use them.”

  “As far as you know.”

  She glared at him. “She wouldn’t.”

  He closed the drawer and went on to another. “We need to be objective.”

  She wanted to say that was easier for him than it was for her. Instead she kept silent.

  He felt under the mattress and came out with a flat cosmetic bag.

  Sage watched him open it. Inside was seventy-five dollars.

  “It must be from her pay,” Sage said. “And she sure wouldn’t leave that.”

  “Right.”

  When he started to put the money back, Sage reached for the bag. “I’ll keep it. In case Mom decides to do some snooping.”

  He glanced toward the door. “You think she’d take it?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  Sage put the money in her shoulder bag.

  When they walked back to the front of the house, they found that Angel had already left.

  Sage locked the door behind them, then climbed into the car, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

  “Mom wasn’t always that bad,” she said defensively as they headed back to the car.

  “What happened?”

  “She’s had a hard life. She’d like to be dependent on a man, but the relationships never work out.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s no judge of character. If a guy is halfway nice to her, she gets too friendly, and they take advantage of her . . . availability. When they get to know each other better, the relationship is likely to blow up in her face.”

  “And she took out her frustrations on you and your sister?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite so strongly. When I was little, she used to try harder with us.”

  Ben said nothing, and Sage felt even more uncomfortable..

  “I should have left you back at the Beach Breeze.”

  “No. I need to get the whole picture, and she’s part of it.”

  Chapter Four

  Ben kept his tone neutral. He knew Sage had been embarrassed by the encounter with her mother, but he wasn’t going to tell her she shouldn’t have come to Doncaster.

  He hadn’t been prepared to partner with her, but he was starting to see how she’d be an asset to the investigation.

  “Police station next,” he said.

  “It’s one street over from Main. On Oyster. Next to the new library building.”

  He headed for Main. After turning the corner, he glanced in his rearview mirror and spotted a blue pickup truck behind them. An ordinary model. There must be scores of them in Doncaster, but this looked like the one that had almost run over Sage in the parking lot at Decorah Security. When he slowed down, trying to get a look at the driver in the rearview mirror, it sped around him and barreled down Main.

  He sped up.

  “What are you doing?” Sage asked.

  “Up ahead. That looks a lot like the pickup from the Decorah Security lot. The one that almost ran you down. There’s mud on the license plate, like this morning. And the driver’s got a baseball cap pulled down over his face.”

  She peered through the windshield at the vehicle. “I didn’t get a good look when I was at Decorah. Just a flash of something blue bearing down on me. There’s a ‘J’ on the license plate. That’s all I can see under the mud. And the right rear bumper is dented.”

  “Sounds like our suspect, but I didn’t spot him on the way to your mom’s.” He tried to catch up, but the light changed, and the truck zipped across. He could almost imagine the guy in the cab giving them the finger.

  “Maybe it was a coincidence.”

  “Maybe,” he answered, but in his experience, what looked like a coincidence often turned out to be just the opposite.

  When the light changed, he drove several more blocks through the shopping area, but the vehicle in question had disappeared. And there were too many tourists on the street for reckless driving.

  “He’s gone,” Sage murmured.

  “Yeah.” Ben turned to look at her. “Did anyone know you were going to Decorah Security?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “And I guess from your mom’s reaction, she didn’t know.”

  “I figured—why bother.”

  He thought over her answer. “Did you spot the truck on the way over to our offices?”

  “I was preoccupied.”

  He nodded. Someone could have followed her from her house.

  “We were going to the police station.”

  “Right. Which way?”

  “We have to turn around.”

  She told him the cross street, and he doubled back, turning then turning again onto Oyster and pulling up at the police station. It was in a converted clapboard house with a wide front porch. The lawn had been replaced by a wide blacktop parking lot—with a prominent sign marking the Chief’s space. A new Ford King Ranch pickup truck was parked in the slot. A model he knew started around fifty thousand dollars. An expensive ride for a small-town police chief.

  He switched his attention from the chief’s wheels to the quaint station house. The facility was probably from about the same era as Angel Baker’s house, but in far better repair.

  “Looks charming, but I guess they’ve got jail cells in there.”

  “I’ve never been inside. The station used to be in a modern building on Main—totally out of keeping with the rest of the area, but they got a deal on this place. Probably Phil Davis handled the transaction, with the other guys I mentioned chipping in some of the cash—above what the town had to pay. Phil got to move his real estate office to the old building and added some charm to the exterior. Charm is important in Doncaster.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that,” he said dryly. “And connections.”

  When Ben didn’t get out immediately, she gave him a questioning look.

  “I’m thinking about our approach.”

  “Which is?”

  “I think we’ll tell him the same thing we told your mom. The truth. You’ve hired Decorah Security to help you find your sister.”

  When she looked uncertain, he asked, “What don’t you like about that?”

  “I told you that the town wants to avoid trouble. Judd won’t like it if he thinks we’re pressuring him.”

  “If we don’t tell him I’m from Decorah and he finds out later, that might make things worse. Or maybe he already knows. I mean, how did that truck show up outside our offices? It sounds like someone was sent to stop you from investigating your sister’s disappearance.”

  She winced. “I hate to think someone would actually come after me.”

  “Do you have a better explanation?”

  “I wish I did.”

  “Let me do the talking.”

  She bristled. “Because?”

  “Just from the little you’ve said, you’ve given me the impression that the chief is more likely to deal with a man on an equal basis than a woman.”

  “He’s not likely to deal with anyone on an equal basis, except for people like the mayor and the bank president.”

  “That bad?”

  “They pay him, so he’s respectful. Otherwise he considers himself a step above ordinary mortals.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They climbed out of the car, and Ben looked around, notin
g the cameras mounted along the roof line.

  “Don’t do anything you don’t want recorded,” he murmured as she followed his gaze.

  The Victorian charm ended at the door. Inside, the building had been completely remodeled with a high desk separating the waiting area from the offices in back. A young, uniformed officer standing behind the desk looked at them inquiringly as they stepped through the front door. His blond hair was cut short, and his uniform was neatly pressed. He appeared to be the kind of guy who thought the uniform set him apart—perhaps following the chief’s example. Ben had known men like that in other assignments. This guy’s name tag said “Lancaster.”

  In response to the officer’s stare, he said, “We’d like to talk to Chief Judd about Laurel Baker.”

  “The girl who ran away?”

  “The girl who’s missing.”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m Ben Walker from Decorah Security.” He got out his P.I. credentials and put them on the desk.

  Lancaster inspected the creds and pushed them back toward Ben. “I’ll see if the chief is in,” he said.

  Ben refrained from pointing out that if the chief wasn’t in, someone was using his parking space.

  They waited at the counter, saying nothing. Finally the kid came back, followed by a heavyset man with a stomach that would have earned him a trip to the diet doctor in a metropolitan police department. But this was the Eastern Shore of Maryland, Ben reminded himself, where the rules were apparently more lax, at least in regard to physical fitness.

  The chief’s thinning hair was cut short. His eyes were close-set and steely. And his ears looked like they’d been taped back to hold them next to his head.

  “I’m Chief Judd,” he said, glancing at Sage before addressing Ben.

  “Pleased to meet you. Ben Walker from Decorah Security.”

  “Which is located where?”

  “Between DC and Baltimore.”

  “What brings you all the way over here?”

  He refrained from pointing out that he’d already told that to the desk officer. “We’re trying to get a line on Laurel Baker who didn’t come home from work two nights ago and hasn’t shown up since.”

  “Runaway most likely.”

  Beside him, Ben could see Sage reacting. “She didn’t run away,” she blurted. “She had no reason to run away. She was in school, and she had a job working at the Crab Shack.”

  “And you are?”

  “Her sister.”

  “Your mother is Angel Baker?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your name is?”

  “Sage Arnold.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t know that your mother came to the Crab Shack two days ago to speak to Laurel?”

  “No. About what?”

  “They were having a right good argument. Your mother was yelling at her that she was working too many hours and letting her grades slip, and she’d better shape up or ship out. She yelled back that if that was what your mom wanted, she didn’t have to live there anymore.”

  Sage looked shocked. “People heard all that?”

  “Well, I got it from Bettie Henderson, the restaurant hostess. She heard the whole thing.”

  Sage nodded numbly, and Ben wondered if her assessment of her sister’s disappearance had been all wrong. Yet there was something about the smug expression on the chief’s face that set Ben’s teeth on edge. The man looked like a master chess player who’d just checkmated his opponent. Which made him wonder if Chief Judd really believed Laurel had run away or if he was more interested in a quick solution to the problem.

  “Let us know if you get any more information,” Ben said.

  “Of course,” the chief answered, his tone upbeat. “Where can I contact you?”

  He handed over a card with his cell number.

  Judd studied the card. “You got a local address?”

  “You can get me on my cell.”

  “You going back to Beltsville tonight?”

  “We don’t have firm plans,” Ben answered, continuing with his evasive answers.

  “I wouldn’t want you to waste any more of your time. If she wants to be found, she will be.”

  “You’re sure it’s not a kidnapping?” Ben asked.

  “We have no evidence of that.”

  Beside him Ben could almost feel Sage vibrating with the need to speak. Before she could, he took her arm and led her outside. The minute they stepped onto the porch, she opened her mouth, but he tightened his grip on her, and she got the hint.

  She gave him a quick look, then nodded.

  As soon as they got into the car and closed the doors, she turned to him.

  “My mother lied to us! She said that the last time she saw Laura was when she left for work.”

  “Maybe she felt bad about her part in Laurel’s disappearance.”

  “Or she knew I’d get mad when I found out. All she cares about is herself.”

  “She did call to ask if Laurel had shown up at your house.”

  She sighed.

  “In any case, I’m not going to take the chief’s word for the shouting match at the Crab Shack. He looked pretty pleased with himself when he gave us the information.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “You were upset.”

  She nodded and said, “I want to go over there now.”

  “Agreed. Where is it? I didn’t see it on Main Street.”

  “It’s one block closer to the town dock.”

  “You know Bettie Henderson?”

  “I don’t think we ever met. I guess she moved to town after I’d already left.”

  They retraced the route to the main drag, and he found a parking space in one of the many lots designed to make shopping easy for tourists. The restaurant, a large building of weathered wood, was on the harbor side of the street, with a bank of windows looking out over the moored boats. There was a private dock where patrons who came by water could tie up. As Ben and Sage walked toward the door, seagulls wheeled overhead.

  “A prime location,” he said.

  “It’s been here since before I was born. The ownership changed about twenty years ago.”

  “You really are up on local history.”

  “In Doncaster, everyone knows everyone else’s business. The guy who used to own the restaurant killed his wife.”

  Ben winced. “I guess they couldn’t cover that up.”

  “I guess not. Because of the scandal, the current owner got it cheap.”

  They stepped inside. The interior continued the nautical theme with captain’s chairs, fishnets and floats on the wood-paneled walls. There were also pictures of Doncaster in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

  The dinner hour was just starting. A slender, efficient woman with short-cropped dark hair was seating a pair of customers. When she came back to the podium, she looked at Ben and Sage.

  “I still have some nice tables available by the window.”

  Ben hesitated. He hadn’t come here intending to actually have a meal, but it struck him that both he and Sage had missed lunch. “Yes, that would be great,” he answered.

  Sage gave him a confused look.

  As the hostess led the way to the table he said in a low voice, “We do need to eat dinner.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “This gives us a chance to judge the atmosphere here.”

  The hostess turned toward them. “Something wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Ben answered.

  They sat down and waited until the woman had left.

  Ben leaned toward Sage. “I know you’re anxious to find Laurel.”

  “And I feel like we’re wasting time. We could grab hamburgers from a fast-food place if you’re hungry.”

  “We could, but this is a working dinner.”

  Just then the waitress approached their table. Her name tag said “Sonja.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

  He ca
ught her accent and smiled. “Where are you from?”

  “The Czech Republic.”

  “That’s interesting. Your English is very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How did you happen to end up in Doncaster?”

  “There are companies that hire women to work in the United States. You must have good English skills to get accepted.”

  “Are most of the waitresses here part of the program?”

  “About half of us.”

  “Do you know Laurel Baker?”

  Her expression changed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m her sister,” Sage blurted. “We’re trying to find her.”

  The woman’s gaze swung toward her, and a look of sympathy crossed her face, but her words didn’t match her expression. “I have to get back to work. I’m sorry. Did you want something to drink?”

  Ben chose a beer from a local brewery. Sage opted for iced tea.

  When the waitress had left, she leaned across the table and said with exasperation in her voice, “We didn’t learn much.”

  “Quite the contrary.”

  Chapter Five

  Ben kept his own voice even. “We know that a lot of the waitresses are from out of the country. And we know that Sonja is reluctant to talk to us about Laurel.”

  “She could be reluctant to slow up her waitress duties.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  He could see other diners looking at them, particularly a casually dressed, gray-haired man and woman. Were they locals who might know something about Laurel? Or tourists who had picked up on the conversation?

  Sonja came back with their drinks, looking wary. “Are you ready to order?” she asked.

  “Sorry,” Ben apologized. “We haven’t really looked at the menu.”

  “A lot of people like the crab cakes. Or the crab imperial. Or the crab-stuffed rockfish.”

  He laughed. “Well, this is the Crab Shack.” They both ordered the shellfish specialties, and Ben added a side order of onion rings.

  Ben took a swallow of his beer. He didn’t usually drink on the job, but he figured one beer wasn’t going to blur his judgment. While they were waiting for their dinners to arrive, the hostess came over, looking slightly wary.

  “I overheard you talking to Sonja about Laurel,” she said. “I’m Bettie Henderson.”