He shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know. I lost track of time.’’
She flipped through the pages. ‘‘Does anything in here say where he is right now?’’
‘‘That I couldn’t find. If he’s flying, he’s using false ID. I found no rental cars, no current credit cards, but get this. He was last seen at his current address in upstate New York four months ago. That was just a couple weeks after he had a visitor.’’ He paused, waited for her to meet his gaze, then said, ‘‘Dennis Nelson.’’
‘‘Our Dennis Nelson?’’ When he nodded, she took another sip of coffee and considered. ‘‘That’s the trigger.’’
‘‘Yep. I suspect so.’’
Annabelle drummed her fingers on the table. ‘‘Now that we know who we are looking for, we will find him, right? People can’t hide in this day and age. Not for long, anyway.’’
‘‘We’ll find him, Annabelle.’’
The farmhouse telephone rang then, and Annabelle rose to answer it. Her sister Lissa called with the news that she was bringing lunch from one of their favorite restaurants in town. Annabelle knew better than to tell her that she’d just finished breakfast. While the sisters chatted, Annabelle noted that Mark had wandered over to the framed pictures that crowded one wall of the entry hall—her mother and father’s proud ‘‘Hall of Fame.’’
Annabelle visualized what he saw. Adam at bat at T-ball, his eyes scrunched shut. Lissa in her ballerina costume at Halloween. Amy poised to dive into the pool at her first swim-team race. Annabelle was up there, too, of course. In the high school drama club’s production of Our Town. Riding her bicycle with her best friend, playing cards clothespinned to the spokes of their wheels to turn them into ‘‘motorcycles.’’ In front of the army recruiting office with Sergeant Harwell the morning she left for basic training.
She watched the smile on his face slowly fade as he reached the north end of the wall. The baby section. Annabelle and her siblings, Adam’s three children, and Lissa’s four. Her mother grouped the babies together because she loved to point out the family resemblance between them all.
Lissa’s voice came over the receiver. ‘‘. . . Daddy’s color was putrid. I swear, Anna-B, what is wrong with Aunt Polly?’’
‘‘If I try to answer that, we will still be talking when it’s time for my shift at the hospital tonight.’’
Lissa laughed and declared she was on her way. They said good-bye and Annabelle hung up the phone.
Mark stood in front of the babies, his hands shoved into his pockets. The strain on his face made her heart break all over again.
Looking for something . . . anything . . . to distract him, she said, ‘‘Lissa is on her way with lunch. You have to promise me not to tell her that I just ate breakfast.’’
He grabbed on to her conversational distraction like a lifeline. ‘‘Oh yeah? What’s it worth to me?’’
Before she could answer, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the number, then answered, saying, ‘‘Hey there, Noah.’’
He turned away as he listened and Annabelle slowly became aware of the subtle stiffening of his stance. She moved around to see his face.
His brow was furrowed, his eyes closed. He wasn’t happy about something. ‘‘Mark?’’
He opened his eyes, and met and held her gaze as he said, ‘‘Christ, Noah. What the hell is going on?’’
Chapter Eleven
Three dead.
Noah Kincannon had found three people dead in his parents’ house. Three strangers.
‘‘This whole thing is just getting weirder by the minute,’’ Mark muttered a half hour after Kincannon’s call had come in. He checked his e-mail one more time before joining Annabelle and her sister in the dining room. Lissa had arrived a few minutes before with takeout that smelled delicious, but Mark had told the women to start without him. He was waiting to hear from half a dozen people about a dozen different items.
Mostly he wanted to get a look at the crime-scene photos Kincannon was supposed to send in order to see what clues, if any, he could pick up from those.
He could only imagine what Kincannon had felt when he walked into his parents’ home and discovered the woman’s body in the kitchen along with a plate of freshly baked cookies, a glass of room-temperature milk, and a note to him waiting on the kitchen table. Tough, cold-blooded Noah Kincannon’s voice had trembled when he relayed the contents of the note to Mark.
Welcome home, Noah. Go upstairs and say good night to your folks.
Kincannon had described climbing the staircase braced for the worst and discovering the two bodies in his parents’ bed. He said it had taken him a full minute to really see them, to comprehend that the bodies were not those of his mother and father.
He had called Mark while waiting for the police to arrive in answer to his 911 call. The minute they had disconnected their call, Mark had fired off a flurry of e-mails, bugging everyone from Colonel Warren in Washington to a computer hacker even more talented than he for updates on previous requests he had made for information about Kurtz.
With nothing of import in his mailbox, Mark followed the women’s voices to the lunch table. Pasting a smile on his face, he greeted Annabelle’s sister and gestured toward the Styrofoam container on the table in front of an empty chair. ‘‘Is this mine?’’
‘‘Yes. The best meat loaf, green beans, and garlic mashed potatoes you’ll ever eat,’’ Annabelle replied, a question in her eyes.
She wanted to know if he’d heard from Kincannon, Mark knew. With her own loved ones protected, Annabelle had seen no reason to worry them further, and she had asked that they keep news of this latest attack from her family for the time being. He answered her silent inquiry with a surreptitious shake of his head. ‘‘Great. I’m starved.’’
Lunchtime discussions focused on lighter subjects as the sisters caught up on local gossip, the plans for Lynn Monroe’s new kitchen, and Lissa’s summertime plans with her family. Mark mostly listened while he shoveled the best meal he’d had in days into his mouth and in doing so saw a side of Annabelle’s sister that she had kept hidden yesterday at the hospital. As she laughed about something one of her children did, he realized she reminded him of his twin’s wife, Maddie. Annabelle’s sister was fierce as a lioness when it came to family.
Mark’s cell rang and he checked the number. Matt. ‘‘It’s my brother,’’ he said, aware of Annabelle’s sudden tension. ‘‘Excuse me.’’
Stepping out onto the porch, he flipped the phone open and said, ‘‘Whatcha got?’’
‘‘A bruise on my chin after laughing at my wife when she tried to climb out of her chair. She looked so damned comical I couldn’t help myself. Torie has a good right hook.’’
‘‘You are a dumb-ass, Matthew. Did you call looking for sympathy or do you have information for me?’’
‘‘Dammit, Mark. You always take her side. Just for that, I might not tell you my news.’’ He paused a moment before saying, ‘‘I’ve found Vince Holloway.’’
Mark braced himself. ‘‘He’s dead?’’
‘‘Nope. Very much alive. Alive and working on the side of the angels in Pakistan. He sends his best to you and says to get the bastard.’’
Mark blew out a heavy, relieved breath. ‘‘Excellent news. For that, I’ll give Torie a call and tell her she needs to kiss your bruise better.’’
‘‘Hell, if I’d known that was the reward, I wouldn’t have dodged when she tried to knee me in the junk.’’
‘‘What about Holloway’s family?’’ Mark asked, his thoughts moving forward.
‘‘None to concern yourself over, according to Holloway. You can cross him off your worry list, brother.’’
‘‘Good. That makes my job easier.’’ Mark took quick mental stock of the current situation. Of the twelve members of the team, he could now account for ten of them. ‘‘That leaves only Rhonda Parsons and Jordan Sundine.’’
‘‘Who do you want me to work on next?’’
Mark considered what he knew so far about his missing teammates. ‘‘Parsons, I think. Sundine has always been a free spirit. It wouldn’t be unusual for him to pick up and take off. Parsons is more of a worry. Being out of pocket this way is unusual for her, according to her brother. We really need to find my last two teammates.’’
‘‘Are you still worried this Kurtz asshole might make a go at the families?’’
‘‘Oh yeah.’’ Mark told his brother about the phone call from Kincannon. He didn’t bother to suggest that Matt beef up security at home. His brother was a pro. He would do what needed doing.
‘‘So who are the vics?’’ Matt asked.
‘‘I’m waiting on that information myself. With any luck, the cops clear that up fast. Noah needs information about his family. The uncertainty is driving him crazy.’’
‘‘I can certainly understand that.’’ Matt waited a beat, then said. ‘‘All right, then. You better hang up the phone so I can track down your friend. I’ll give you a call back soon. Probably won’t take me any time at all to find these folks, since we both know I’m twice the investigator you are.’’
‘‘Bite me.’’ And with that pithy comment, Mark hung up and rejoined the women in the dining room, where conversation had moved on to the topic of their aunt Polly. Mark listened in amazement as the Monroe sisters discussed the sex lives of seniors at the assisted-living center where good ol’ Polly lived. When they giggled over Aunt Polly’s comments about her ‘‘current squeeze’s package,’’ he grew indignant on the gentleman’s behalf. ‘‘Why, she’s nothing more than a dirty old woman.’’
‘‘Are you just now figuring that out, Callahan?’’ Lissa asked, a laugh in her voice.
He quit listening to them then and dug into the dessert she’d brought—a piece of heaven otherwise known as apple pie. Lost in the pleasure of it, at first he didn’t notice Annabelle’s and Lissa’s expectant stares. ‘‘I’m sorry. What did I miss?’’
Annabelle said, ‘‘Since Dad has been moved out of intensive care, the questions are starting. They’ll be worse when he comes home and people come to visit and see for themselves what happened. We need a family plan on just what we should say. I asked for your opinion.’’
Mark licked his fork and considered the options. ‘‘I don’t know how tenacious reporters are in this part of the world, but we don’t need anyone to come snooping around. We don’t want Kurtz to learn that we are on to him.’’
‘‘Or for the Gallery Girl to be certain that she got away clean,’’ Annabelle added.
‘‘Why not call it a butane-tank malfunction and leave it at that?’’ he suggested.
‘‘That’s the simplest story,’’ Lissa agreed. ‘‘Certainly better than Adam’s suggestion.’’ When Mark arched a querying brow, she explained. ‘‘He said we should say Mom got careless in the kitchen and blew the place up. Mom didn’t think that was funny.’’
Annabelle winced, then said, ‘‘I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be nice to have extra eyes on the situation here. We could float the story that someone from my old army outfit has post-traumatic stress syndrome and has targeted my family in order to hurt me. A good thing about living in a small town is that people watch out for one another.’’ Glancing at Mark, she added, ‘‘That way if we need to go to Florida for Noah . . .’’
Lissa straightened, her expression growing stormy. ‘‘You are leaving? Already? For crying out loud, Annabelle, you just got here. Do you want to break Mom’s heart? I can’t believe you—’’
‘‘Kurtz killed three people this morning,’’ Annabelle interrupted. When Lissa abruptly snapped her mouth shut, she continued. ‘‘We think Kurtz did it, anyway. It’s a little early to be sure. It happened in our team member’s parents’ home.’’
‘‘In Florida?’’ her sister asked, subdued.
‘‘I don’t think we will need to make that trip,’’ Mark said. ‘‘Kincannon will be able to do the footwork there.’’
‘‘Unless he is too busy looking for his parents.’’
Lissa asked, ‘‘Do you think this Kurtz guy hurt them, too?’’
Annabelle abruptly set down her fork. Mark addressed the question. ‘‘We don’t know enough to know that yet. Of course we hope that’s not the case, but until they turn up one way or the other, we simply can’t be certain.’’
Lissa chewed at her lower lip, a nervous habit Mark had watched Annabelle do a thousand times. Finally, her gaze direct and demanding, she asked, ‘‘Are we still in danger?’’
Mark glanced at Annabelle, whose expression had taken on a grim cast. ‘‘Until we interrogate Kurtz and find out if this actually is a case of PTSD or something else . . . we just won’t know for sure.’’
Annabelle rose from her seat and carried her lunch cartons to the kitchen. He heard the rattle of plastic as she dumped the remains of her lunch in the trash.
Mark met Lissa’s gaze. ‘‘That said, I honestly believe Kurtz took his shot at y’all and won’t come around again until he has a check by the name of everyone on the team. Lissa, the people we have watching over you are extremely good at their jobs. Even better, your sister is on the case. I’ve worked with a whole lot of people over the years, and Annabelle is simply the best.’’
Lissa sat back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the table. After a moment, she snorted. ‘‘Don’t let her fool you, Mark. She might be good at cloak-and-dagger stuff, but when it comes to kolaches, I leave her in the dirt.’’
‘‘In your dreams,’’ Annabelle said as she cleared her sister’s and Mark’s cartons, too.
With that, the mood lightened. Lissa invited Mark and Annabelle to walk with her down the road to Adam’s house, where she wanted to coordinate Little League car pool with Adam’s wife. ‘‘Better not,’’ Annabelle told her. ‘‘I have a stack of reports to go through before I go into town to see Daddy.’’
A few minutes later as he watched Lissa stride down the front walk, Mark observed, ‘‘I don’t think she hates me as much today as she did last night.’’
‘‘Callahan charm strikes again,’’ Annabelle murmured. ‘‘Besides, she didn’t hate you. She hates the work. That’s what you represented. Adam, on the other hand, hates you. He knows about us.’’
‘‘What? I thought you hadn’t told your family.’’
‘‘Just Adam. He was visiting me when the divorce was final. I . . . um . . . had a few drinks.’’
Mark recalled the man who had answered when he had phoned that day. Not a boyfriend, but her brother. Well . . . well . . . well. Apparently he had obsessed over nothing. ‘‘No wonder he looked like he wanted to kill me.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t get too close to him if he has a pitchfork in his hand if I were you.’’ She turned toward her father’s office and changed the subject. ‘‘Why don’t you check your e-mail? Maybe Noah has sent us something by now.’’
Mark dragged his gaze away from the barn into which Adam had moments earlier disappeared. He sauntered into the office and moved the computer mouse. Four new messages.
Kincannon’s had an attachment. ‘‘Here we go.’’
Annabelle moved to stand beside him and they read the message together.
My family is safe. Located at condo in Branson, Missouri, as part of a house-swap vacation. Deceased couple identified. A case of wrong place, wrong time. Woman in kitchen remains a mystery.
Mark clicked on the first photo. A man, seventies, single shot to the head. Same for the woman beside him in the bed.
‘‘Those poor people,’’ Annabelle murmured.
He opened the third picture and froze. Beside him, Annabelle gasped. ‘‘It’s her. The woman from the gallery.’’
They both stared at the photograph for a long minute. Then she added, ‘‘I don’t get it. I don’t get this at all. What connection does she have to Kurtz? Was she working with him and he turned on her?’’
‘‘Or was she after him, too?’’ Mark recalled the t
heory that had occurred to him up in the mountains of Colorado. ‘‘Did she or whoever she worked for figure out what Kurtz was doing and try to stop him?’’
‘‘If that’s the case, then why try to kill you and me?’’
‘‘We won’t know anything until we figure out who the hell she is.’’
Mark flipped open his cell phone and dialed Kincannon. He answered on the first ring. ‘‘Any ID on the body downstairs?’’ Mark asked.
‘‘No. Nothing. No purse, no car keys. Not a blessed thing.’’ Mark communicated the news to Annabelle with a shake of his head.
‘‘We need that information,’’ he said into the phone. ‘‘She is the shooter who came after us in Colorado.’’
Kincannon took a moment to digest that before replying in a dry tone, ‘‘That’s interesting.’’
‘‘To put it mildly. We need a name and to know what connection she had to Kurtz. Are the locals giving you access? Do you need some help from Washington?’’
‘‘I met a little resistance. I’ve already called the colonel, so that’s been handled.’’
‘‘I need copies of her prints ASAP,’’ Mark said, mentally choosing where and how he would run them. Any name that the Florida cops attached to the woman would need vetting through a number of databases not available for access by just anyone.
Annabelle waved her fingers in a silent request for the phone. Mark handed it to her and she asked Kincannon about his parents. Then the two spent a few moments commiserating over the fear they’d both experienced due to this turmoil having touched their families. Then she asked, ‘‘So the killer believed the couple upstairs were your parents? Your mom doesn’t have family photos sitting around the house?’’
Mark saw her gaze go to her parents’ wall of photos while she listened to Kincannon’s response. ‘‘Wow. Stupid of him.’’ A smile played across Annabelle’s mouth as she added, ‘‘I’d pay money for copies of those, Noah.’’
Always Look Twice Page 19
