by Paula Graves
Doyle looked up at his detective, surprised. “You think so?”
“Well, you’re equipped to do it, obviously. But beyond that, she’s been sent here by the county to judge whether or not the Bitterwood Police Department even needs to exist anymore. I figure, it can’t hurt to give her a firsthand look at how seriously and personally we take our jobs.”
“You mean, offer myself as her bodyguard as some sort of PR stunt?”
Antoine made a face. “Well, when you put it like that—”
“You’ve already protected her,” Ivy pointed out. “And you seem to be getting along okay now.”
Doyle tried not to think about the kiss he and Laney had shared in the dark, cold recesses of the cave on Copperhead Ridge. He was pretty sure that kiss wasn’t the kind of personal service Antoine was talking about. “Laney Hanvey doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d appreciate being followed around by a cop all day.”
“So don’t let her know that’s what you’re doing,” Antoine said.
“That’ll never work,” Ivy countered. “She’s not stupid.”
“Well, he’s got to find a way to keep her from getting killed,” Antoine argued, “because if we can’t even protect the person sent to keep an eye on us, there’s no way we’re going to be able to convince the county we can pull our own weight.”
“Patronizing her won’t help anything,” Ivy argued.
“You two figure it out and let me know what you decide.” Doyle pushed to his feet and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Ivy asked, turning to watch him go.
“I haven’t had a decent meal since breakfast yesterday.” He grabbed his jacket from the coatrack by the door of his office. “I’m going to lunch.”
* * *
LEDBETTER’S DINER WAS only a block down Main Street from the police department, an easy walk even with muscles as sore and tired as Doyle’s. He’d taken his lunch hour early enough that the normal midday crowd had not yet filled the diner, so he had his choice of tables.
He picked one near the door and sat with his back to the wall, an old law-enforcement habit he’d picked up from his father long before he’d ever pinned on his first badge. Cal Massey had been an Alabama state trooper until his death, and he’d raised all three of his children as if they were going to follow in his footsteps.
“Never sit with your back to the door,” he’d told them. “You need to always keep an eye on who’s coming and who’s going.”
Doyle and his older sister, Dana, had both taken their father’s lessons to heart. Only David, the youngest, had chosen another path.
Tragic, Doyle thought, that the only one of them who’d never strapped on a gun and a badge had been the one to die young.
The bell over the door rang, drawing Doyle’s gaze up from the menu. His chief of detectives, Craig Bolen, entered the diner with a man and a woman in their late forties. The man was tall and heavyset, dressed in a dark suit. When he took off the sunglasses he was wearing, his eyes looked red-veined and tired.
The woman beside him wore a shapeless black dress and black flats. Her sandy hair was pulled back in a tight coil at the back of her head, her pale face splotchy from crying. Dark smudges beneath her eyes could have been the remnants of mascara, he supposed, but he suspected they were more likely the result of sleeplessness and grief.
These were the Adderlys, he understood instinctively. Dave and Margo.
He rose as they looked for a table, dreading what he knew he should do. Craig Bolen caught sight of him first, a glint in his eyes, and nodded a greeting.
“Mr. and Mrs. Adderly?” Doyle steeled himself against the wave of sorrow he knew would flow from them. He may not have held the title of chief of police before, but he’d dealt with grieving families and knew what to expect.
Which was why the shifty look in Dave Adderly’s eyes caught him flat-footed.
“Dave,” Craig said, “this is Chief Massey—”
“I know who you are,” Adderly said bluntly.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Adderly,” Doyle began.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
Margo Adderly put her hand on her husband’s arm, a shocked look on her tear-ravaged face. “Dave.”
Craig Bolen frowned at his friend. “Dave, Chief Massey has been out all night looking for Joy—”
“He’s not out there now, is he?” Adderly walked stiffly to a table nearby, sitting deliberately with his back to Doyle. Margo Adderly darted a troubled look at Doyle and joined her husband, laying her hand on his arm. He shrugged the touch away.
Bolen looked apologetic. “He and Margo had to pick out a casket for Missy this morning.”
“Understood.” Doyle waved his hand toward the table, giving Bolen leave to join the Adderlys. He returned to his own table, his appetite gone. When the waitress came for his order, he settled for a grilled cheese sandwich and water, and asked for them to go.
As he left with his food, he glanced across the dining room at the Adderlys. Dave Adderly had turned in his chair to stare at him, his expression hard to read. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, at least not the same blatant unfriendliness he’d displayed before. He almost looked as if he wanted to say something, but he finally turned back around and murmured something to his wife.
Doyle spent most of his walk back to the office trying to figure out what that brief confrontation with Adderly was all about.
“That was fast.” Ivy was still in his office when he returned, in the middle of jotting a note. “I was just leaving you a message.”
“Anything important?”
“The TBI called with the results of the ballistics test on the slugs from both Missy Adderly’s body and Janelle’s head wound. Both came from the same weapon, and they’re pretty sure it’s a pistol because of the polygonal rifling and the size of the slugs. If we find the weapon, they should be able to identify it.”
“If we find the weapon.” Doyle sank into the well-worn leather of his inherited desk chair and set his food and water on the desk. He eyed the brown paper bag without enthusiasm. “I ran into the Adderlys at Ledbetter’s Diner.”
Ivy shot him a sympathetic look. “How were they holding up?”
“What do we know about the relationship between Adderly and his daughters?” Doyle asked.
Ivy’s eyes widened. “You mean, should we be looking at him as a suspect rather than a grieving father?”
“Something about the way he responded to me this afternoon made me think he really, really doesn’t want to talk to me about the case. And if I were a father with one daughter dead and another missing, I don’t know that there’s anything else I would want to talk about besides the case and what the police were doing to find my missing child.” Doyle pushed the wooden letter opener lying on his blotter from one side of the desk to the other. “Ever been any rumors about that family?”
“You mean like sexual abuse? Never that I’ve heard.”
“Some families go to great lengths to cover up that kind of thing.”
Ivy shook her head. “Both girls were well-adjusted. No trouble in school, both good students and good kids. Definitely not typical of abuse victims.”
“No,” he conceded. “But I don’t think I’m wrong about Adderly. There’s something on his mind he does not want to talk about, especially with me.”
“It might have something to do with his job,” Ivy suggested. “He’ll be voting on whether or not the county will attempt to take over the police department and move it under the Ridge County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Adderly’s on the county commission?”
“You didn’t know that?” Ivy sounded as if he’d looked up at the sky and somehow failed to notice it was blue.
“I’m new.” He was only fiv
e days into the job. Surely he had a grace period before he’d be expected to know everybody’s business the way the natives did.
Ivy shot him a grin, as if reading his mind. “Maybe we should put together a study book for you. Map out the family trees, outline all the deep, dark secrets.”
“Yeah, you get right on that. After you go check on the progress of the search parties. They’re supposed to reconvene at the staging area around one to get some food and take a breather. I need someone to gather all the status reports and compile them for me.”
“I was going with Antoine to talk to some of Missy and Joy’s friends.”
“Antoine can grab one of the uniforms to go with him. Tell him to pick one who might be good as a detective. We still have a space to fill on the force, and I’m all for promoting from within.”
“I thought you’d have wanted to talk to the searchers yourself.”
“I would,” Doyle agreed, rising from his desk. “But I can’t be two places at the same time. So I need you to be my eyes and ears on the mountain.”
“Where are you going?” Ivy asked, following him out of his office.
He shrugged on his jacket. “I’m going to go watch the back of a stubborn public integrity officer without her knowing it.”
* * *
“LANEY.” JANELLE’S VOICE was a soft singsong in Laney’s ear. She opened her eyes to see the spring-green curtains of her sister’s bedroom. Janelle sat on the bed beside her, writing in a bright blue spiral-bound notebook.
Laney lifted her face from the pillow, feeling cotton-headed. “I must have dozed off.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But then I realized I was just fooling myself.” Janelle looked up briefly from her notebook and gave Laney a pitying look. “You’ll have to come to the understanding yourself, though. I can’t do it for you.”
Laney cocked her head, confused. “What are you saying?”
“People don’t get shot in the head and survive.”
“Of course they do. You did. The bullet hit the plate in your head—”
“And people don’t get shot at in the woods without getting hit.” Janelle turned to look at the bright sunshine pouring through the bedroom window, revealing the gory mess where the back of her head should have been.
Laney’s stomach lurched, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. When she pulled her hand away, it was coated with blood. She looked down and saw blood drenching her white blouse, still seeping from a large hole in her chest.
Fear seized her, flooding her emptying veins with panic.
“Laney. Sleepyhead.” Janelle’s voice filled her ears like a taunt.
Her body gave a jerk, and she was suddenly awake, really awake, staring up at her smiling sister. Gone was the bright bedroom, replaced by the muted glow of the light over Janelle’s hospital bed. Laney pushed herself up to a sitting position, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“Wow, you were dead to the world,” Janelle said with a chuckle.
Laney shuddered at her sister’s turn of phrase. “What time is it?”
“About one.”
The last thing Laney remembered was the food-services aide bringing Janelle her lunch. Alice had taken advantage of Laney’s presence to run home for a shower and a nap. Laney had taken over the chair by Janelle’s bed and...that was the last thing she remembered.
“You should have awakened me earlier.”
“Why? You looked tired. I wanted to watch TV anyway, so, win-win.” Janelle grinned at her.
“Has the doctor come by yet?”
“Nope. I asked the nurse about it, and she said that if he hadn’t come by to release me at this point, it probably meant he wanted to keep me one more day.” Janelle grimaced. “I’m getting sick of this place.”
“I know, sweetie, but you don’t want to take chances with a head wound.” The creepy sensation left over from Laney’s strange dream began to dissipate. “And here, you’ve got an armed guard watching out for you.”
“You mean Delilah?” Janelle asked. “She’s not here anymore. She left about fifteen minutes ago.”
Chapter Nine
Laney frowned. “Delilah left? Are you sure?”
Janelle nodded. “She came in while you were napping. Said she had gotten called back to the office and that there’d be someone taking her place in a little while. But nobody ever did.”
Laney dug in her pocket for her phone, checking to see if there were any messages. Maybe there had been a break in the case and Doyle no longer thought there was any need for a guard. But she had no messages. “Did she say who called her?”
“She just said the chief wanted to meet with his detectives so she had to go.”
Doyle had made sure Laney entered his cell number in her phone before they parted company that morning. She dialed it now.
Doyle answered on the first ring. “Massey.”
“This is Laney. Did you call Delilah away from the hospital?”
There was a long pause. “No,” he answered. “She’s not there?”
“She told Janelle she’d gotten word you wanted her back at headquarters. She’s been gone about fifteen minutes.”
“Are you and Janelle okay?”
“We’re fine. But I’d like to know who called Delilah.”
There was a tap on the hospital-room door. Laney heard Doyle’s voice both on the phone and just outside the door. “I’m just outside. Can I come in?”
Relief jolted through her. “Please.”
He was smiling when he entered, but Laney saw the weariness and concern hidden behind the smile. “Hi there, Janelle. How’re you feeling?”
Janelle’s dimples made an appearance, making Laney smile. “I’m much better. I hear you and Laney had an interesting night.”
Doyle glanced at Laney, as if wondering how much she’d told her sister. “We did,” he answered carefully.
“I told her about being snowed in,” Laney said, flashing him a warning look. “Did you go in to the office?”
“Yeah. I had things to do.”
“Should we worry about Delilah getting called away?” she asked.
“Might have been a mix-up on our end. I did ask for all the detectives to come in for a meeting, but I didn’t mean Hammond.” He walked to the side of the room and pulled out his phone, while Laney turned back to her sister, whose smile had faded into a look of worry.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked Laney.
“We’re just a little on edge because we still haven’t found Joy or been able to figure out who shot you and Missy. I won’t really be able to relax until we do.”
“It’s so crazy,” Janelle said, wincing as she shook her head. “Ow. Pulled my stitches.”
Laney helped her lie back against the pillows in a more comfortable position. “I know it’s crazy. But there are a lot of folks out there looking for Joy.”
“It was so cold last night up on the mountain. I don’t know how Joy could have survived it if she’s out there hurt and alone.”
“Maybe she found shelter somewhere and all we have to do is find her.” Laney tried to sound hopeful, but she knew the odds of finding Joy alive decreased exponentially as the hours passed without any sign of her.
Doyle crossed back to Janelle’s bedside. “I caught Hammond on her cell and told her to go on home and get some rest, since she was here all night. I’m going to stick around until I find someone to cover the evening shift.”
“You really think I’m in danger?” Janelle asked.
“We’re just taking precautions.”
The nurse arrived to check Janelle’s vitals, giving Laney a chance to pull Doyle aside. “Who pulled Delilah off guard duty?” she asked in a low tone.
“Don’t know yet. Antoine’s looking into it. Hammond said she didn’t recognize the voice, but she’s pretty new on the force and doesn’t know all the dispatchers by voice. The number was blocked, but all the numbers from headquarters are blocked, apparently. A policy of the old chief. I’m going to have to look at his reasons for doing that and see if I concur.”
“So it could have been anybody.”
“Hammond says no. Dispatchers have to be able to give a clearance code on demand when they contact personnel on cell phones rather than the radio—so officers know they’re not being hoaxed. Hammond said the caller gave the correct clearance code when she asked for it.”
“Strange.”
“Maybe it really was a miscommunication.” Doyle put his hand on her arm, the now-familiar gesture making her stifle a smile. “Let’s not borrow trouble when we have enough already.”
The nurse finished with Janelle and left the room. Laney found her sister frowning fiercely at the IV cannula in the back of her hand. “My temp was one hundred. There’s no way the doctor is going to let me go home today.”
Laney brushed the hair away from her sister’s forehead. “If you’re running a fever, this is where you need to be anyway, right? Where the doctors and nurses can make sure you get better instead of worse.”
“I’m just tired of being here.” Tears welled in Janelle’s blue eyes. “I’d feel so much better in my own bed.”
“I know.” Laney glanced at Doyle, wondering if he was thinking the same thing she was. As much as she sympathized with Janelle’s frustration at having to stay in the hospital another day, she felt relieved in a way. The extra layers of security the hospital afforded made it that much easier to keep Janelle safe. If she returned home to her mother’s small house in the middle of Piney Woods, keeping her safe might become a more difficult proposition.
Doyle produced a deck of cards from the pocket of his coat and laid it on the rolling tray table at the foot of Janelle’s bed. “Lucky for you, I came prepared.”
Janelle gave the deck of cards a raised eyebrow. “What, you’re going to do card tricks? I’m not twelve.”
