by Emily James
It wasn’t a car. It was a motorcycle.
13
When I first saw the movie Minority Report, I’d rooted for the main character as he struggled against a society where crimes could be predicted in advance and people were incarcerated before the crime happened.
Now, watching a black motorcycle identical to Griffin’s follow me down the highway, I wasn’t so sure a world where crimes were stopped before they happened was such a bad thing.
The only positive I could find was that a motorcycle couldn’t run a car off the road. If he’d been driving anything larger, that’s what I would have feared.
Sweat slicked my grip on my steering wheel. He’d know that as well as I did, so he had to have a different purpose for following me—like finding out where I lived.
Thankfully I hadn’t been stupid enough to hand him one of my business cards. Since I didn’t have an office, I’d put Sugarwood’s address on them.
I had to lose him before I could go home. I wasn’t a stunt driver, and a motorcycle could outmaneuver my car anyway. Plus, he likely knew the roads around here better than I did. My GPS wouldn’t be able to recalculate my routes fast enough to make taking random detours a viable possibility. I’d only end up lost and being followed by a potential murderer.
That narrowed my options to…well…one. I’d have to go somewhere with a lot of other people and wait. Hopefully he’d give up.
Strike that. I wouldn’t go just anywhere. I’d drive right up to the Fair Haven police department and walk in. If any of the officers I had a good relationship with were working today, I’d explain the situation and ask for an escort home. Griffin would have to be pretty bold to continue to follow me if I had a police car along with me.
All the spots in front of the station were filled when I pulled up. I parked along the curb in a spot that wasn’t technically a parking spot and hurried inside.
Sheila sat behind the front desk, her gaze focused on the computer. She glanced up, and a smile bloomed on her face. “Hey, Nicole. You won’t believe it. I finally got Royal to stay.”
Sheila and her border collie Royal had been in the same obedience class that I’d taken Velma to. Royal had been one of the smartest in the class, but his kid-on-a-sugar-high levels of energy meant he’d never been able to hold a stay for longer than fifteen seconds.
I congratulated her and casually asked which officers were on duty, giving the lame excuse that I had a question about No Trespassing signs. Neither Erik nor Quincey nor anyone else who wouldn’t think I was blowing this out of proportion were in. Even Chief McTavish was off.
Since I was sure Griffin wouldn’t shoot me, I’d go back out to my car and take a look around. If I didn’t see him, I’d start off again on a circuitous route through Fair Haven. Now that I was on my home turf, I might even be able to lose him.
A piece of paper tucked under one of my windshield wipers fluttered in the breeze. At first, I thought it was a parking ticket. Then I got closer. Someone had ripped one of the yard sale flyers off the nearest lamp post and had scrawled something across it.
Friendly town you have here. Sugarwood sounds like a nice place. I might visit sometime.
I sagged against my car’s hood. I’d underestimated him. His note was smart. It could as easily be a friendly message as the threat I knew it was. I’d figured that as long as I didn’t lead him to Sugarwood, I’d be safe.
But instead I’d led him close enough. All he’d had to do was ask someone where he could find Nicole Fitzhenry-Dawes, and after that, Sugarwood was easy to locate. We had signs plastered all around town.
Griffin knew where I lived.
And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
***
The look on Griffin’s face, the memory of that black motorcycle following me, and the thought of his note continued to send shivers over my scalp the rest of the week.
I’d made sure to lock my house up tight, and I’d kept Toby in the bedroom with me each night. I even shoved a chair under the front and back doorknobs. I didn’t know if that actually worked to block a door, but it couldn’t hurt.
To make matters worse, Dean’s case felt like it stalled out. Hal hadn’t been able to find anything useful on the names I sent him. Griffin had a background in IT and a sealed juvenile record. The names of all of Dean’s clients turned up clean, and Dean himself seemed to spend most of his time at the gym or at G&D Construction.
By the time Friday came, I was thankful for the hustle of final prep for Stacey’s baby shower to take my mind off of it for a bit.
I hadn’t believed Stacey when she’d warned me what a baby shower in Fair Haven would be like. I’d thought we could hold it in my house until the guest list swelled to nearly a hundred women. I’d ended up renting a tent that Mark, Russ, Dave—who worked our rental shop—and Stacey’s dad, Tony, set up in the clearing where the antique sugar shack used to be until it burned down. In a way, it was a blessing that the contractor couldn’t fit us in until fall to build a replica since it gave us a spot to put the tent. Mandy, Stacey, Stacey’s mom, and I spent all of Friday making the maple syrup popcorn and putting together the favors.
But it was worth it to watch the outpouring of love for Stacey. Some of the local gossips might have come mainly to see how she was handling becoming a young single mom. Most of the people were there because they cared about Stacey and her family.
When what I’d expected to be a two-hour event stretched to four, I was also glad I’d given in when Mandy insisted that I let her cater. The finger foods I’d thought we could manage with wouldn’t have been nearly enough. I was clearly not cut out to be an event planner.
It took us another hour to transport all the gifts back to Stacey’s house, even though Mark, Russ, and Tony all returned to help.
I leaned on Mark on the walk back to my house and stifled a yawn. “Eloping is looking better all the time. Planning a party is more exhausting than dealing with criminals.”
“Too late now.” Mark squeezed my waist. “We’d have to move to DC if we did it now, because we’d never be able to face my mom again.”
I started to laugh, but it turned into another yawn. “Does it mean I’m old if I want to go to bed now even though it’s only six o’clock?”
“Before supper? I could run into town for something if you don’t have anything in your fridge. We still need to look over the ME’s report for your case.”
My fridge had been holding everything I’d put together for the baby shower. Now it probably had a bag of apples and a carton of orange juice. Not exactly supper fare. I might have a pizza in the freezer, but I couldn’t make any promises. I’d been so busy with Dean’s case and Stacey’s shower that I hadn’t had time to shop.
“I can stay awake long enough to eat and go over the report.”
“I’ll pick someplace close.”
When we reached my house, he climbed into his truck, and I headed up the steps. My key turned too easily in the lock, which meant the door hadn’t been locked at all.
My heart beat in my chest like it was having a boxing match with my fear. I knew how it happened. Russ was last out of the house this morning in our food caravan, and he’d never locked a door in his life as far as I knew. We’d had multiple conversations about how he needed to lock my door if he was in and out of my house, but he insisted Fair Haven was safe. Half the population didn’t lock their doors.
Half the population hadn’t been attacked as many times as I had and hadn’t been recently followed by a potential criminal and left a threatening note. I was keeping my big-city habits even if we stayed here twenty years.
I should have checked that he’d locked the door, but I’d been so distracted with making sure we hadn’t forgotten anything we needed.
Despite the wasted air conditioning, I’d just leave my door open and stay within sprinting distance until I could get my dogs out of their crates. And I’d have Mark check the house to be on the safe side once he got ba
ck.
I stopped three feet inside the door. The house was too quiet. It gave me the same feeling as when I woke up in the night and the white noise had vanished because the power had gone out. It’d only happened a few times this past winter, but I couldn’t sleep when it did.
I could hear the fridge humming this time, so it wasn’t that.
It had to be that my dogs weren’t squeaking and howling to be let out. Toby’s hearing had been going lately, but Velma should have still heard me come in.
I headed for the laundry room. The door stood open. That door I knew I’d closed when everyone was here. Mandy must have come by to take the dogs for a walk again.
I poked my head in the door. As expected, both crates were empty.
Good thing I hadn’t sent Russ an angry text about leaving my door unlocked. Mandy would have left it open because she hated juggling a key and leashes. Given the current situation, I’d need to ask her to lock up when she went out as well.
In the meantime, I’d leave my front door open. Not exactly energy-efficient, but better than growing a stomach ulcer because I was afraid someone would sneak up on me and I wouldn’t be able to escape in time.
While I waited for Mark, I pulled out the medical examiner’s report on Sandra and refreshed my memory on the items I wanted to check with Mark.
Mark came through the door, his arms full of bags from A Salt & Battery. He kicked the door shut with his foot and looked around. “Where’s my furry welcoming party?”
I closed the file and slid it to the side until we finished dinner. “I think Mandy must have taken them for a walk after the shower. They’ve been gone a long time, though. I’d better call and make sure Velma hasn’t escaped again.”
Mandy was convinced Velma did it on purpose, that it was a game to her, like the dog version of hide and seek. That might be true, but the one time I’d almost lost her, she hadn’t been trying to hide from me. She loved to run, and it seemed like she took off and then forgot how to get back. I was more careful than Mandy about keeping watch on her and calling for her when she got too far away. Mandy got distracted, and by the time she looked up, Velma was gone.
I plugged Mandy’s number into my phone and prayed she wasn’t in one of the dead-zone pockets.
“Hello?” Mandy sounded out of breath.
If I hadn’t known that she’d lost ten pounds since she started borrowing my dogs, I’d wonder why she kept taking them out. She always came back red-faced and sullen.
“It’s just me. I wanted to make sure Velma hadn’t run off on you again.”
More wheezy breathing. “I’m not out with the dogs. I just finished unloading all the leftovers from the party.”
I know I’d put them in their crates so they weren’t underfoot while we took the food out for the baby shower. They were smart dogs, but they didn’t have opposable thumbs. They couldn’t have let themselves out. The only other person who took them without asking was Russ, and he’d been with us the whole time post-shower until Mark and I left to walk back here.
“Why are you asking about the dogs?” Mandy said.
I hung up on her. My body felt like it belonged to someone else, and I’d borrowed it. It didn’t want to respond to my commands the way my own body should.
Mark stopped beside me, silverware in his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Mandy doesn’t have the dogs.”
Mark laid the silverware down slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook me with any sudden moves or loud noises. I couldn’t blame him. I felt like I was about to shatter, sending body shrapnel everywhere.
“Maybe someone else borrowed them,” he said. “Like Dave. Remember you told me that customers have been asking to see the dogs ever since that article about Sugarwood turned her into your mascot.”
That part was possible. The reporter had asked to do a piece on Sugarwood because it was one of the oldest sugar bushes in Michigan. I’d been teaching Velma a few tricks to keep her mind engaged in non-naughty behaviors, so I showed the reporter how she would hold a wooden bucket in her mouth. It ended up as the largest photo with the story, and since then, Dave had told me the most common question he got from visitors was whether they’d be able to see the dog from the article carry the bucket. We’d even framed the article and photo, and it now hung in the Short Stack, our pancake house.
But even with my door unlocked, it seemed far-fetched. “Dave would never enter my home without permission. Besides, he’s allergic to dogs.”
I dialed his number just in case.
“I wouldn’t take them without asking, but I wonder if I could work that into my mystery. Maybe it could be a mystery-fantasy and the dogs teleport from—”
I hung up on Dave as well. “He doesn’t have them. I feel sick.”
“Someone has to have them.” Mark’s face had lost enough color that I could see the blue veins near his temples. “Did you check for a note?”
I did a mental forehead slap. If I hadn’t been so panicky, that would have been the first thing I did. Whoever took them probably didn’t want to bother me with a phone call while I was busy with Stacey’s baby shower.
I walked to the laundry room.
When I’d glanced in before, I’d seen Velma’s crate hanging open. Toby’s crate nestled farther back in the room. It hung open as well, but a note was taped to the door.
I slumped against the door frame. “Whoever it was left a note.” Whoever it was would also get what my grandma used to call a tongue lashing for not at least texting me to ask permission, interruption or no. Even in a small town, you shouldn’t traipse into someone’s house. An unlocked door didn’t constitute permission.
Someone should also suffer a little for the fact that I felt like a doofus because I didn’t check for a note.
I yanked the note off the crate hard enough that the tape stayed behind and the top of the paper ripped.
It was typed.
We have the dogs. They’re safe. If you want them back, you’ll stop poking around in other people’s business and make Dean Scott plead guilty rather than going to trial.
14
The paper slipped from my hand.
Mark caught it before it hit the ground. His gaze skimmed the paper. “I’m calling the police.”
I grabbed his wrist. “You can’t call the police.”
“It doesn’t say that.”
It hadn’t said that? I read the note a second time to be sure. “What type of kidnapper doesn’t specify not to call the police? Isn’t that a given? Don’t these people watch TV?”
My voice jumped in pitch, but I couldn’t seem to control it. Not only had someone been in my home, they’d taken my dogs. Even though the note promised they were safe, they didn’t have Toby’s bed or his glucosamine for his joints or Velma’s toys. And there was no way they’d walk them properly because they couldn’t risk being seen.
If I didn’t comply, who knew what they’d do next? Whoever had taken my dogs had probably killed Sandra as well since they wanted Dean to take the fall for it. If they’d killed a person, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill my dogs. Maybe next time they’d kidnap me, too.
You need to calm down and think, the voice in my head that always sounded too much like my mom said.
I didn’t want to calm down and think. I wanted to panic and cry. But calming down and thinking made a lot more sense. As my dad loved to remind me when I was a little girl, crying didn’t achieve anything. And I knew that panicking didn’t, especially as an adult.
“Call the police,” I told Mark. “I’m calling Dean.”
I dialed his number, but he didn’t answer. Instead of leaving a message, I ended the call and dialed again. And again.
Finally, on the fifth try, he answered—with a curse word strong enough that I would have hung up on him if the situation were different.
“Someone took my dogs. Either you get them back to me, today, or you’ll be finding yourself a new lawyer tomorrow.”
“What make
s you think I can get them back?” Dean said. His tone still had a snarly quality to it. “I didn’t take them.”
“Because they know you well enough to know I’m your lawyer, and whoever took them wants you to go to prison without a trial. You didn’t take them, but it’s a good bet you’re connected to the person who did.”
A sound like fabric rubbing over the phone filled my ear. Given his tendency to go around shirtless, he was probably getting dressed.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
To his credit, the sniping tone had vanished. I filled him in on the note.
“The note said other people’s business? It said that’s what they wanted you to stop nosing around in?”
Yarg. If my dogs hadn’t been involved, I never would have missed that. That meant this likely wasn’t about Sandra’s murder at all. It wasn’t the real murderer who’d taken my dogs. This happened because I’d been poking around in Dean’s construction business. Then again, Griffin might be both the one behind the kidnapping because I’d been poking around and the one behind Sandra’s murder. “That’s what it said. So I’d start with your business partner.”
“I don’t think it was Griffin. I’ll handle this. Don’t call the police.”
Don’t call the police? He had to be kidding me. I might have listened to that if the kidnappers had demanded it, but I certainly wasn’t doing it to cover Dean’s hind end. “Mark’s already called the police.”
He swore again. “You just made this worse.”
That did it. “It’s not my fault if you get caught doing something illegal. And it’s time I talked to Elise about it. I want off this case.”
“Don’t call Elise.” Now his voice had a frantic tone. “I’ll tell you everything once we get your dogs back, but don’t tell Elise. She’ll use it to get my visiting rights to my kids revoked.”
She probably should, depending on what he was involved in. People who would snatch my dogs might also kidnap Arielle and Cameron. Granted, they’d seemingly only come for my dogs because they thought I was on to them, which meant Arielle and Cameron weren’t in immediate danger.
