by Rebecca Deel
“Catching up on reports. I’ll leave in a few minutes.”
“I want all the break-in files.”
Uncertainty shadowed Rod’s eyes. “Notice something?”
“Maybe. Lang’s scene pics show a thorough search. Miller’s reveal anger, frustration. I want to know if the old man’s got bad timing.”
“Or if there’s a reason he was targeted.” Rod inclined his head toward file folders occupying a desk corner. “I made copies of all the break-ins in the last three months. A couple cases don’t fit the profile. One was insurance fraud. The other involved a four-footed thief.”
Ethan’s eyebrows rose. “A dog?”
“Nope.” Rod grinned. “The family tabby. Sweet Cakes hid the lady’s jewelry. The Westons wouldn’t prosecute.”
Ethan chuckled. “Knew there was a reason I preferred dogs.”
Back in his office, Ethan set aside the cat thief and insurance fraud files. The remaining two belonged to Shane O’Malley and Pam Oliver.
Pam Oliver? Serena’s employee? Ethan scanned the file. Place of employment: Home Runs, Inc. He frowned. Another tie to Serena. He shuffled pages until he found the crime scene pictures. Destroyed computer, slashed furniture and cushions, overturned bookcases. The perps left her place in the same shape as Miller’s.
Ethan pushed Pam’s file to the side and grabbed O’Malley’s. His scene pictures showed a chaotic mess, but not wholesale destruction. He leaned back, elbows resting on padded chair arms. He wanted to interview all the victims again, starting with the first, Pam Oliver.
#
Serena set grocery bags on Pam’s green counter and pulled out the contents. “Pam, you’ve got to come back to work. Mr. Miller’s driving me batty. How do you get along with him so well?” She tossed a bag of chips in her friend’s direction.
Pam Oliver snatched the bag of tortilla chips in mid-air. “He’s really sweet when you get to know him.”
“Ha.” Serena stopped restocking the pantry and glared at the woman lounging on the couch. “My bees can’t make enough honey to sweeten his sour disposition.”
She stuffed empty bags in the trash, and joined her friend. “Did the doctor give you a time frame? Any hope of freedom from George Miller’s clutches with my sanity intact?”
Pam frowned, color climbing in her cheeks. “He’s not that bad, Serena.” Her voice carried an edge.
Maybe not to her. Funny how Miller took to Pam so fast. He barely tolerated anyone else. “So, when can I focus on cooking? Old Yeller’s howling about the extra miles.”
Pam tilted her head, a smirk on her face. “You could get a new car, put the old girl out of her misery.” She shoved brown hair away from her eyes.
“Shh. Don’t say that so loud.” Serena leaned close. “She gets testy any time she sniffs out a possible replacement.”
Pam snickered. “Your car’s always cranky. You’re lucky Megan obsesses over classic cars.”
Serena grinned at the accurate characterization of her sister. Meg loved those old classics and had a knack for fixing them. She’d already restored a 1963 Corvette Stingray. Meg swore her latest garage occupant was a 1957 Chevy Bel Aire disguised as a rusty junk heap.
“So, when can I hand you the keys, Errand Queen?”
Pam lifted one shoulder. “Maybe sometime next week.”
Sometime next week? “Can you be a little more specific?” Serena tried keeping aggravation from her voice, but Pam’s defensive look told her she hadn’t succeeded.
“I can’t be more specific right now. I’ll have to let you know later.”
Alarm kicked her pulse rate up a notch. Had Pam undergone a personality transplant since high school? An eighteen-year-old Pam Oliver had planned the Cahill sisters’ senior trip to Las Vegas, complete with a daily itinerary. The Pam she knew didn’t leave open options. “Is your back that messed up, or is something else wrong?”
“Leave it alone, Serena.” Pam balled her fists. “It’s nothing.”
“We’ve been friends since we were kids. Let me help. You can trust me.”
“I’ve already said too much.” Pam took her bag of chips back to the kitchen. Serena stared at the unopened bag. Her friend loved chips—potato chips, corn chips, pretzels. Pam knew them by name and loved them all. She’d never seen her put away a bag without snitching a handful.
“How do you like the purse I gave you?”
Serena blinked at the abrupt subject change. “It’s great. I’ve already fended off three Volkswagen fans.”
The doorbell rang. Pam stared at the door, her hand on her throat.
“Want me to answer that?” What was wrong with her? Forget the personality transplant. Maybe somebody kidnapped her friend and replaced the real Pam Oliver with a neurotic double. Pam acted like a deer, ready to bolt at the first scent of trouble.
“Please.”
Serena looked through the peephole as the bell sounded again. She smiled over her shoulder. “Relax. It’s the good guys.”
#
A familiar blonde opened the door. Ethan smiled. More beautiful than he remembered, Serena stared at him with ocean-colored eyes.
“Chief Blackhawk.”
Serena’s greeting yanked him back to reality. “Please, call me Ethan.” Her smile caused his heart to skip a beat. “Feeling better?”
Serena grinned. ”Don’t worry. Your shoes are safe.”
“I need to ask Ms. Oliver a few questions. Is she here?” He looked over Serena’s head and scanned the room behind her. A shadow of movement off to her left caught his attention.
“She’s right here.” Serena moved aside and turned toward the living room. “Well, Pam was here.” She closed the door behind Ethan. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll find her.”
Ethan studied the room he recognized from file pictures. A new couch and wingback chair replaced ones destroyed during the break-in. He moved to the bookcase and crouched, reading a few titles. An eclectic taste in books. Her shelves housed popular fiction along with books on gardening, do-it-yourself home repairs, interior decorating, stock market investing, and accounting.
He studied the framed family portrait on the fireplace mantle. A six or seven-year-old Pam smiled at him.
Footsteps echoed in the hall behind him. A brown-haired woman walked into the living room ahead of Serena. “You have questions for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Ethan Blackhawk, Otter Creek Police.”
“I’d better go, Pam.” Serena retrieved her purse from the couch.
Pam grabbed her arm. “No.” Her gaze darted to Ethan. “Stay. Please.”
Indecision flickered in Serena’s eyes. He nodded at her, then focused on Pam. “Tell me about the burglary.”
Pam waved Ethan to the couch beside Serena and perched on the edge of a chair, poised for flight. “What do you want to know?”
“Assume I don’t know anything.” Ethan pulled a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket.
“Serena and I spent the day shopping in Knoxville. I dropped her off about 7:00 and drove home. I walked into a mess.”
“I take it you didn’t leave the house that way?”
Pam shuddered. “I can’t stand things out of place. Drives me nuts.”
“Notice anything unusual before you left?”
“Like what?” Her gaze flitted between Ethan and Serena.
“Anybody watching the house, something out of place in the neighborhood, a vehicle you didn’t recognize.”
“Not that I remember.”
“Anything missing?”
“A couple flash drives.”
She never quite met his gaze. He resisted the urge to run a hand down his nose to check for dirt spots. “Why steal only your flash drives? Why not take the entertainment system or plasma television?”
Pam looked away. “I don’t know.”
“What was on the flash drives, Ms. Oliver?”
“College papers, my errand schedule, nothing important.” She stared down a
t her hands.
“Do you have backups in another location?”
One more negative head shake.
Great. Another uncooperative vic. “Ms. Oliver, how well do you know Mr. Miller?”
Pam’s gaze zeroed in on his. She twisted the sapphire ring on her finger. “Serena and I are helping out until he’s mobile. I run errands and take him to the doctor. Serena cooks most of his meals.”
“How long have you known him, Ms. Oliver?”
“I already answered that question.”
“No, ma’am, you didn’t.” He stared at her, unblinking. “How long have you known him?”
Seconds of silence stretched into a minute, two. Her fidgets escalated. He remained still. Long silence loosened most tongues. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Six weeks.”
Serena twisted sideways on the couch. “We met him when he moved here for rehab.”
Ethan shifted his gaze and question to Pam. “Why rehab here? Otter Creek isn’t a medical metropolis.”
She ran her fingers through short brown hair, rumpling the curly mop further. “Maybe he wanted to get away from the city.”
An interesting bit of information. Ethan almost smiled. “What city?”
“I don’t know.” She appeared aggravated with herself for revealing that much.
“A place out west,” Serena said.
Out west? Remembering Miller’s injuries, his uneasiness returned. Where had the vic lived before coming to Otter Creek? Ethan angled himself to see both women. “Why do you think that?”
“A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Miller was in a foul mood. He complained about it raining for a week. He said he wasn’t used to that and his bones ached.” Serena glanced at Pam. “Don’t you remember him saying he preferred the desert?”
A cold knot formed in Ethan’s stomach. “Did he mention where?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pam’s gaze darted between Ethan and Serena. “Is that all? I want to lie down.”
Ethan stood and pocketed his pen and pad, noting Pam’s spasmodic movements as she walked to the door. He motioned for Serena to precede him. “Ms. Oliver, I don’t know why you’re running, but you can trust me. I’ll help if you let me.”
Pam stiffened. “I’m not running.”
“Who are you afraid of?”
“Get out.” She jerked open the door, face pale.
A firestorm of frustration raced through Ethan. She couldn’t handle this situation alone, or she would have dealt with it already. If his suspicions were correct, her life hung in the balance. Why wouldn’t she trust him? He pressed a card into her hand. “When you need me, call. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”
#
Window panes rattled. Echoes of the slamming door reverberated on the morning breeze. Serena studied the wooden barrier which locked friends out and kept Pam a prisoner. Fear wrapped her in icy tendrils. What or who ignited such desperation in Pam? “I’ve never seen her like that.”
Ethan walked with her to the car and opened the door. Though Serena didn’t think it wise to shut him out, she understood why Pam didn’t trust the police. Her heart ached for her friend. Why wouldn’t Pam confide in her?
“She’s afraid.”
“Terrified is more like it.”
Ethan helped her into her car, then knelt beside her. “Do you know why?”
A picture formed in her mind of Pam’s terror-stricken face. She jammed her key in the ignition. “I don’t know, but I will find out.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Ethan knocked on the farmhouse door and stepped to the side, squinting into late afternoon sunlight. In the barnyard, chickens pecked the ground and Holsteins grazed behind the fence line while a tethered goat nibbled grass near a wooden post. Aromas of hay and ripe manure brought back memories. His stomach constricted from ghost hunger pains. Unlike the scaly structure from his past, O’Malley’s barn gleamed with new red paint.
A lock’s metallic snick recalled him to the present. “Shane O’Malley?”
Brown eyes beneath black brows studied him. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Ethan Blackhawk, Otter Creek Police. I’d like to talk to you about the burglary.”
O’Malley lifted a broad shoulder, muscles rippling under his work shirt. “Sure, but I don’t know more than what I told the other detective.” He opened the door wider. “Had dinner?” He led Ethan into a large kitchen and waved him to a seat at the oak table.
“Not yet.” Gnawing emptiness reminded him he’d missed lunch again.
“Do you like beef stew?” O’Malley’s sun-bleached hair shone in the Frigidaire’s light. “I have orange juice, milk or water to drink.” He looked over his shoulder, a smile on his lips.
“Cold water would be great, Mr. O’Malley.”
Shane grabbed a couple containers from the refrigerator shelf and a can of biscuits, and, with a nudge from his hip, closed the door. “It’s Shane. The stew’s already made. I finished the last homemade biscuits this morning, but these taste pretty good when they’re hot.” He turned on the oven, peeled the wrapper from the biscuit tube and popped it open. “I have chores to finish in the barn before I sleep tonight, so this is my only chance to eat.”
“I don’t want to impose.” Ethan’s stomach chose that moment to remind him of his missed meal.
Shane grinned, teeth shining in stark contrast to his tanned skin. “My girlfriend, Lisa, is out of town, and as long as you don’t drink all the milk, Herb won’t mind.” He handed Ethan a large glass filled with ice and water.
“Herb?”
“The barn cat.” After dumping stew into a pot and turning the burner to low, he sat across from Ethan. “What do you want to know, Detective?” He folded his arms across his chest. “It is detective, right?”
“I’m the new police chief, but call me Ethan.” After taking a long drink and setting aside his glass, he opened his notebook and flipped passed notes from Pam’s interview to a clean page. “The burglary occurred two weeks ago?”
“On Tuesday.”
“See anybody around your place?”
Shane shook his head. “The farmhands and I repaired fences in the south pasture that day. We didn’t return here until sunset.”
“When did you discover the theft?”
“Around 6:30. Had to take care of the horses before I came inside.”
Ethan’s pen hovered over the notepad. “How many horses do you have?”
“Four quarter horses.” Shane smiled. “You a horse man?”
“Spent some time on a farm as a kid.” Until his father concentrated on beer cans instead of corn. “My Appaloosa is stabled in Las Vegas until I can find him a place here.” He eyed the farmer. “Ever been out west? Las Vegas or another desert paradise?”
“Nope. Never been out of Tennessee.”
The tension tightening Ethan’s muscles eased. Maybe he was wrong, jumping to conclusions. Otter Creek was a small town. No reason for an international assassin to hunt here. Still, in his experience, strange things happened all the time. Even small towns weren’t safe from dangerous criminals.
Shane rose and stirred the bubbling stew. “I have room for your horse in the barn. I’ll show you around after dinner. If you think he’d be happy here, we’ll discuss boarding costs.”
Ethan longed for wind whistling past his ears again, the power and rhythm of Shadow’s gallop, the nuzzle of his soft black nose. The possibility sent a jolt of excitement racing up his spine.
When Shane resumed his seat, Ethan forced his attention back to business. “You cared for the horses that Tuesday. Then what happened?”
“I found the back door unlocked.”
Ethan noticed his choice of words. “That’s unusual?”
“I always lock the doors. Leftover habit from living in the dorm at UT. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Figured my brother or sister-in-law stopped by and left it unlocked by accident.”
“What did you do next?”
“Hit the shower.” A slow smile spread across Shane’s face. “Lisa’s not fond of trail dust and horse sweat. Since I had a few minutes before our date, I thought I’d work on the ranch books. That’s when I found the mess. Papers on the floor, my file cabinet pushed over and the desk drawers upended. The thief trashed the place.”
Shane’s description fit the crime scene pics Ethan had studied. “What about your computer and flash drives?”
“Left my computer alone, but swiped my flash drives.” He frowned. “Can’t figure that out. Why steal breeding records and feed bills?”
“What about the living room? You didn’t notice the disarray in there before your shower?”
“I came into the kitchen from the mud room. Didn’t notice until after I called you guys.”
“Where’s the south pasture?
“You passed it coming up the driveway.”
Did the thief drive by Shane and his crew? If they were busy with repairs, they might not have noticed. “Anything missing besides the flash drives?”
Shane shook his head.
Not a crime of chance or bored kids. Like the others, the thief looked for and stole a specific item. What information was so important that he’d risk discovery in the middle of the day to retrieve it? “You didn’t return to the house at any time Tuesday until sunset?”
Shane rubbed his jaw. “Now that I think about it, we did come in once for more water. The humidity rose pretty high that day.”
“What time?”
“Around 3:00.”
A three-hour window of opportunity. More than enough time for the job. “Where did you work after getting more water?”
“Fence line along Tucker Road. Stayed there until about 6:00.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ve noticed people around here honk when they pass folks they know in the fields. Anybody drive by without honking after your water break?”
Shane’s eyes widened. “A blue pickup.”
“Recognize the truck or driver?”
“Couldn’t see inside the cab. The sun glared off the windshield.” He wrinkled his brow. “I’ve seen the truck around, but can’t remember who owns it.”
