She waited, her tension rising when he didn’t call for her to come on up right away. She could hear his heavy steps moving from one room to the next. The creaking of the old floorboards. Once, a soft curse.
“Hey, I think you’d better come up here,” he finally called out. “But don’t touch anything.”
Fear washed through her as she took the stairs one by one, her hand trembling on the handrail.
It didn’t take any imagination to guess what she’d find…though when she reached the upper landing, she felt her heart plummet to her feet.
The living room bookshelves were now empty. End table drawers had been jerked out and thrown across the room. A sea of books and papers was strewn on the floor. “My God,” she whispered, her voice dull with shock. “My home. Everything. It’s ruined.”
In the tiny kitchen area, every drawer had been emptied on the floor. In the bedrooms the same had happened to the bureaus and closets. Linens on both beds had been pulled off, and the mattresses were askew.
The stacks of cardboard boxes in the corner of her room had been slashed open and dumped on her bed.
She picked up a pillow that had been ripped open and sank into a wooden rocker in the living area, trying to catch her breath. “Why?”
“Obviously, you have something that this guy needs. Badly.”
“But I don’t!”
“He—or they—sure think so.”
“You think it’s more than one?”
He toed over an empty cardboard box. “Maybe two. Not more, or it would be too memorable to any passersby, seeing three unfamiliar people around town.”
“There are very few passersby out here, though. Most cars pull into the clinic and don’t come clear to the dead end. And even farther up Canyon Street, the front yards are deep and the trees and privacy hedges are pretty dense, so few of those houses have a clear view of the street.”
“True.” Joel leaned down to turn a drawer over. Underneath was a pile of Sophie’s little footed pajamas in pinks and yellows and purples.
Beth flinched at the sight of them. “This could be totally unrelated. But if this was the guy from Chicago, he probably figures I have piles of money somewhere. But that’s totally ridiculous.”
“And imagining that a stranger wouldn’t be noticed in a town this size sort of defies logic, too.”
“How do you know he hasn’t?”
“I’ve been asking around.” Joel moved to a corner of the living room, where there’d been cardboard boxes stacked five high. Now, they’d been ripped open with jagged slashes of a box cutter, leaving a snowdrift of documents on the floor. “What was this?”
“Everything from Patrick’s files and desk. Believe me, I went through all of it before moving here, looking for any possible clues.” She frowned, then shook her head. “It’s mostly just old tax records. Receipts. Warranties.”
“All the doors were locked?”
“Certainly.” Her voice turned wry as she slowly rose from the chair, feeling as if she’d aged a hundred years. “Guess it didn’t help much, even with the new locks.”
He started gathering loose papers and tapping them into neat stacks, while Beth began folding the clothes that had been strewn everywhere. “At least you and Sophie weren’t here.”
From downstairs came the sound of deep male voices, then footsteps up the steps. Dan Talbot appeared at the door, clipboard in hand, his sheriff’s badge glinting in a stream of sunlight from one of the high windows.
After surveying the damage, he came out into the living room and shook his head. “After your call, I sent my deputy out to look. Hubie isn’t in town, ma’am. Leastways, far as anyone can tell. No one’s seen him in days.” The sheriff eyed Beth thoughtfully, then pulled out an official-looking mug shot of a man with heavy jowls and a bleak expression. “You sure you saw him?”
She studied the photo. “I didn’t see his face, but from his shape and size—he seemed to match Anna’s description of Hubie.”
“Not likely, but this time I’m dusting for prints.” He lifted the small case. “And if your guy is in the system, we’re going to find out who it is.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BEFORE SHE’D FELT COLD, SHAKEN. In a daze. Now, as she continued to pick up the wreckage in the apartment, she felt only simmering anger at whoever had trashed her apartment.
Walt lingered and entertained Sophie until there was some semblance of order, but then sent her upstairs when he had to leave for emergency surgery. Joel stayed to help.
“This just seems like an act of hatred,” she said quietly, so Sophie couldn’t hear. “What’s the point of slashing pillows—even the mattresses?”
“Your friend might’ve thought you’d hidden something in them. Or maybe he was getting a little frustrated.” Joel finished duct-taping a box shut and looked up at her with a glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t mind camping out here for a few nights to see if I could catch this guy in the act, but then you’d either be alone at my place, or in possible danger here. Neither option sounds good.”
“At least the deputy is going to cruise around town for a few nights.”
“Believe me, they have to cover a whole county, so they can’t spend a lot of time on a series of break-ins where there hasn’t even been theft. Short-staffed as they are, I don’t blame them. This sort of thing gets even less attention in most suburban areas—there’s just not enough cops to follow up.”
Beth took the box from him and put it on the stack of others containing winter clothes. “At least my security system will be installed by the end of next week. I know how ineffective you think it’ll be, but it’s something.”
She reached for a golf jacket on the floor, her hand trembling as a rush of memories flooded back. “My word.”
“What’s wrong?” Joel looked over at her with immediate concern.
“I just forgot I kept it, that’s all.” She stroked the well-worn poplin material. “Almost all of Patrick’s clothing went to Goodwill six months after he died. It’s such a good cause, and there didn’t seem to be a reason to keep everything…” Her eyes burned at the memory of packing his things away. “I just kept a few things. He called this one his ‘lucky jacket.’ He wore it all the time.”
“You should keep it, then.” Joel started filling another box with her spare blankets.
She kneeled down and straightened out the jacket’s wrinkles against the floor, zipped it, and smoothed her hands over the crumpled fabric. Coins jingled against each other, so she unzipped it and searched the two inner pockets.
The first held several quarters and a five-dollar bill. The second yielded a folded stack of five or six receipts. “Odd,” she mused. “I thought I’d checked all of his pockets already.”
She unfolded the papers and spread them out on the floor at her knees. At first the jumble of numbers made no sense. She stared, turned them upside down. Drew in a sharp breath, then sat back. “This can’t be. Patrick didn’t—I know he didn’t do this.”
They were receipts from the Beaufort Casino.
Beth added them up in her head, feeling a sudden wave of nausea rise in her stomach. How could it be possible?
Joel dropped the box and moved over to her side, picked up first one receipt and then another. He whistled under his breath. “So mild-mannered Patrick wasn’t exactly who he seemed.”
Her first impulse was to slug his arm for daring to say those words aloud. Her second was to rip the receipts to bits before the truth settled in any deeper.
Joel gently took her hands in his before she could do it. “This might be a lead, Beth.”
“A lie,” she whispered. “He was living a lie, and I never even guessed. How—”
She closed her eyes, remembering the late-night meetings. The times he’d fumed about being sent on business trips. The odd comment from Patrick’s boss at one of the Christmas parties, about her husband’s health. Had Pat ever called in sick to cover for going to the track or casinos?
L
ies. All lies.
Joel rubbed the backs of her hands gently with his thumbs, his voice gentle and low. “Bets this large aren’t casual entertainment, honey. This is damned serious.”
Her eyes flew open. “If he had someone harassing him to pay up…”
Sophie wandered over, her eyes filled with worry. “I can’t find Maisie, Momma. I need my baby.”
“I’ll help you look, sweetie.” Beth scrambled to her feet and began searching. “Did you have her last night, or did you leave her here?”
Sophie’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t know!” Her voice rose to a wail. “Maybe a bad man took her away.”
Beth gathered her into her arms and gave her a long hug, then kissed the top of her head. “I won’t let any bad men hurt her, I promise. Should I check downstairs, too?”
At the child’s tearful nod against her shoulder, Beth released her. “You wait here, and I’ll be right back. Okay?”
Beth dashed down the stairs and took a quick survey of the darkened café and Sophie’s play corner, and then went into the kitchen to hunt.
At the soft sound of the bell over the door—hadn’t she locked it after Walt left?—she popped out of the kitchen doors with a smile. “I’m sorry, we’re not open until—”
Her heart faltered.
Just inside was a tall, hulking man, his shoulders rounded, his face cast in shadow by the sunlight streaming in behind him.
Hubie Post.
She held her breath, uncertain whether she should scream, race for the phone, or just say hello.
“I watched,” he mumbled in a hoarse baritone. “But I can’t no more.”
She eased forward an inch or two, trying to avoid looking at the phone lying on the lunch counter.
One press of a speed-dial button would call Joel’s phone and alert him…but what if he brought Sophie down, too? If this man overpowered Joel…
She hesitated. Took another small step.
Hubie immediately took a wary step back against the screen door.
“Y-you watched? Who?” Her fear faded, and her anger rose, hot and fierce and protective. “My daughter?”
“Can’t now, or I be in trouble.” He shook his shaggy head. “Crystal said to, but I can’t.”
“Crystal? She’s…dead.” Beth took another small step and Hubie backed out of the door, pushing it open with his shoulder. “Did you tear up my apartment? Were you in here?”
The man lifted his head enough that she could see a wild glint in them. He dropped something, then spun around and was gone.
But just inside the door, he’d left Sophie’s bedraggled doll.
BETH EXAMINED THE DOLL carefully before handing it to Sophie, then sent her over to the play corner with a glass of milk and a peanut butter sandwich.
Keeping the child in her line of sight, she lowered her voice. “Hubie said he couldn’t ‘watch,’ because he’d get in trouble. Why would he say that? Seems pretty obvious to me, if he’s gotten in trouble before.”
“Maybe he wasn’t referring to stalking children. Did he know Crystal?”
Beth raised her hands in front of her, palms up. “I have no idea. Maybe he’s hallucinating about talking to her.”
“Or he promised her something a long time ago.” Joel flipped out his cell phone and talked to Walt for a few minutes, then clipped the phone back onto his belt. He shook his head. “Crystal was known for taking in strays and trying to help them back on their feet, but Walt doesn’t remember anything about Hubie. Then again, Walt’s busy in his clinic and wouldn’t have seen everything going on over here. He’s also out here just during business hours, barring emergencies.”
“Hubie seemed really nervous, and he practically ran from me. It’s hard imagining him breaking into my place and ransacking it.”
“Except that he managed to get in your front door just now. You want to call the sheriff, or should I?”
She nodded. “I will, definitely. I’d swear that I locked it after Walt left. And now that I think about it, how could Hubie appear out of nowhere? Talbot said he hadn’t been around town in a long while.”
“If he picked the lock, then maybe he is the one who broke in before.”
“Except something just doesn’t seem right. He was almost…apologetic. And maybe I’m wrong, but I got the sense that he isn’t really someone to fear.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to get busy. I open in just over an hour.”
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll pitch in, okay?” Joel reached into a drawer behind the lunch counter and tossed a blue-and-white checkered apron to her, then rummaged around until he found a plain blue one for himself. “No sense having you here alone. Anything else I’ve got to do can wait.”
ON SATURDAY, all of the café’s tables were filled. On Monday, maybe half. On Tuesday, the count was down to five patrons including Walt and Loraine, who cast sympathetic glances toward Beth during their meal and made her feel even worse.
At this rate, there’d soon be no one at all.
“First week of summer vacation,” Walt said.
“Everyone goes on vacation,” Loraine added.
In ranch country? That didn’t seem likely.
But Gina, who’d stopped by for a take-out sandwich, nodded in agreement. “People are busy or gone right now, but just wait. The teachers still have another week, but they’ll be done next Friday. Then they’ll be looking for things to do!”
But when Beth ran into Walt’s housekeeper Maria at the grocery store, she found out the truth.
Her eyes downcast, Maria met her in the produce section and sidled close. “I’m sorry about the news,” she whispered. “The inspectors are too tough, no?”
“Inspectors?” Beth looked blankly at her. “What inspectors?”
Two vertical lines formed between Maria’s eyebrows. “The ones who check the food. There were others who came?”
Mystified, Beth shook her head. “There haven’t been any, since before we opened. And then the café was given a top rating for sanitation and the proper equipment.”
The disbelief in Maria’s eyes was obvious. “I heard it after mass, just yesterday. Two people, food poisoning. Just last week.”
“There’ve been no such cases. None. And no one from the state has come out to follow up any complaints, I promise you.” Beth thought fast. “All of the restaurant inspections are on the county’s Web site—did anyone think to check? Or to call the county health department?”
“No…” Maria’s frown cleared. “I heard people talking, and felt bad for you. Word travels fast in small towns.”
And would be hard to stop. Unless…“What day does the local paper come out?”
“Wednesday for Lone Wolf. Friday for the one in Horseshoe Falls. The other small towns, I don’t know. You want to put in an ad?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of an article, if I can swing it.”
A wide smile spread across Maria’s face. “Ahhh. There, I can help you. My niece Yolanda writes obituaries for the Lone Wolf Sentinel. Maybe she’ll write something about your restaurant, too, eh?”
“Perfect. If she’d like to spread her wings a little, maybe she can do some research, and help me figure out where those rumors came from—and why.”
YOLANDA PROVED TO BE a stunning little gal with waist-length black hair, flashing black eyes and a flair for the dramatic, who was, like, totally thrilled at the opportunity to write about someone who wasn’t dead.
She was also a high school junior who wasn’t likely to be doing any serious investigative reporting in the near future.
Still, she wrote a nice, short article on the inaccurate gossip circulating about Crystal’s Café, explained how to check inspection reports on the Internet, and even managed to slip in an overawed summary on the café’s security system, which had been installed Thursday. She also convinced her father—owner of the paper—to let Beth run a free ad.
On Friday morning Yolanda brought a copy of the paper to the ca
fé and presented it to Beth with flourish. “This is the start of my real career,” she said dreamily. “Today, Lone Wolf. Tomorrow, the New York Times.”
Beth hid a smile. “The Times?”
“Well, maybe after college,” she added with a blush. “We have copies in our school library, and it’s awesome.”
Beth skimmed her article and gave her a quick hug. “Perfect.”
Yolanda worried at her lower lip. “You don’t think the security thing should’ve been, like, a surprise? You know, to catch people in the act?”
“Believe me, I’d rather they’d know about it, assume the worst and stay away,” Beth said dryly.
“Whatever.” The girl’s eyes gleamed. “I think it’d be cool to give some dude a real heart attack when he’s doing something bad.” She looked at her watch and sighed dramatically. “I gotta go home and watch my little brother.”
On an impulse, Beth called out to her when she reached the door. “If your article drums up more business, I might be looking for some help with both the café and my daughter. Would you be interested?”
She stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around. “Would I! There aren’t any jobs around here.”
“Stop back in a couple days and I’ll let you know.”
The girl nodded, and walked out with great decorum, but once the door closed behind her, Beth heard a wild whoop of joy.
Beth turned back to Sophie, who was quietly turning the pages of one of her favorite storybooks, and felt a familiar stab of guilt.
Sophie hadn’t been to Anna’s in over a month now, and had only occasional play dates with Gina’s daughter. Having an exuberant teenager play with her for a few hours a day while Beth worked would be a nice, temporary solution, until they were ready for the move to Montana.
“Hey, sweetie, let’s read for a while before Momma has to get to work, okay?”
“’Kay.” Sophie yawned and snuggled close.
Beth savored the soft, sweet warmth of her little body and began reading.
Lone Star Legacy Page 14
