by Terry Odell
“Clark ended up in a successful real estate company. Did Hal work there, too?”
“I lost touch after high school. We didn’t run in the same crowd, but Mapleton High was even smaller than it is now, so you knew everyone, even if you weren’t friends. I can’t see Hal with enough smarts to be in real estate. I can see Clark giving Hal a job, but it would be more like scrubbing floors.”
“What about Fred Easterbrook?” Gordon asked.
Romash shook his head. “He was a couple years ahead of me, and I was in Clark’s class. Seniors didn’t associate with mere freshmen—unless it was on the football team, and that wasn’t my gig. I think Fred and Clark played football. Hal hung with the team—equipment, or water boy, something like that.”
“Was Fred tight with the Osterbacks?”
Romash seemed to be searching his memory banks. “No more than with anyone else on the team.”
“How about Olivia? The woman Fred married.”
Another head shake. “Never saw him with a girl back then.” He thought for a moment. “Wasn’t there a big hoop de doo years and years ago? She left him?”
“You remember that, but not her?”
“I went to Nam.” He rubbed his leg as if soothing an injury. “Got banged up, messed up. Dropped out for a while. Nothing was the same when I got back to being myself—or as close to myself as I could be after that hell hole.”
Gordon let it drop—no point in making the man bring up old memories if they had nothing to do with his investigation. “What about Roger Ignatius? Or Bob Browning? Mad Dog was his nickname.”
“Nope. Can’t remember any Brownings, or anyone we called Mad Dog.”
“Benny and Zannah—Suzanne—Lowenthal. Did you know them?”
“Lowenthal. I knew a Jacob Lowenthal. Perhaps Benny and Zannah were his parents?” Romash rubbed his chin. “Man, I haven’t thought about Jacob in years. Jacob Lowenthal and his girlfriend—can’t remember her name now—inseparable from eighth grade. They were prom king and queen, homecoming, the whole nine yards. Which, as I recall, raised quite a stir at the time. Chess club, debate team, and he was Jewish, she wasn’t—hardly the stereotypical Mapleton High homecoming court.”
Gordon made a note to check out Jacob and find the girlfriend. He didn’t recall any Lowenthals showing up in his investigation into the whereabouts of Benny and Zannah, but Rose and Sam might know. And Nathan Romash’s comments had triggered yet another line of investigation. Military. For men of that generation, Vietnam and the draft was a major life event. Bonds might have been forged. He added that to his list.
Gordon flipped through his notes. “Two more names. Ruth Polaski and Jane Dougherty. Ring any bells?”
Romash’s eyes seemed to lose focus. He shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing. Were they supposed to have gone to Mapleton High, too?”
“No. They came up in conjunction with our investigation. Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask if you knew them.”
Romash glanced in the direction of the clock on the wall. “I should get back to IC if you’re about done.”
“That’s it. If you remember anything else, let me know. And if I’m not here, you can leave a message.”
“Sure thing, Chief Hepler. I’m glad to pitch in.” He paused at the door and tapped a finger to his temple. “I’ll be thinking about those names.”
Gordon took the recorder and retreated to his office, closing the door to block the extra noise in the station due to the fire. He reviewed the notes he’d jotted. Jacob Lowenthal. The name hadn’t come up, but if his parents were Benny and Zannah—and Gordon thought that was a fair assumption—he might be a lead.
To what? Gordon’s head throbbed and his eyes burned. The words he’d written seemed to dance across the page. He got no hits in the criminal databases for a Jacob Lowenthal of the approximate age from Colorado. It was after eleven, and he didn’t think there was anything demanding his presence. Wasn’t that one of the perks of being the Chief? He made sure all the bases were covered, but he didn’t have to stand out in the ball field himself. He logged off and shut down the computer. After locking his internal door, he exited via the rear and climbed into his SUV. Home and bed. Alone in both, but he was too tired to care.
His house seemed much farther away than usual, but he finally pulled into his garage. He sent a quick text to Colfax giving him Jacob’s name, and suggesting he look into military connections before face-planting on top of the covers. Maybe he’d solve the case in his dreams.
Armless skeletons dancing. Doc’s portrait with dollar bills swirling around it. Abraham Pinkerton’s stare drilling him. Mayor Alexander rolling him up in his Oriental carpet. Gordon struggled to free himself. Through the quicksand of sleep, he tried to convince himself they were nightmares. Only nightmares. He forced himself awake, panting, sweating, and tangled in his bedspread.
Chapter 37
Megan tugged Angie’s arm. “Stop here. Park under those trees.”
Angie slowed the car. “You know what you’re doing?”
“When I was a kid, this was how I snuck in and out.”
“I keep forgetting you had a wild streak back in the day.” Angie shoved the shifter into Park and set the brake.
“Hey, with the area evacuated, it should be a snap. No dogs or nosy people to worry about.”
“Yeah. Just the cops and firefighters.”
“There is that.” Megan eased the car door open. “But Gordon wouldn’t let them arrest you, would he?”
“I don’t think so. But I don’t want to test it, either. Let’s concentrate on not having to play that card.”
Megan cupped her hand over the tip of the flashlight from the emergency kit in Angie’s car. She used to be able to navigate this forested route by the faintest starlight, relying on the distant street lights and lights in people’s homes to show the path. But that was years ago. Because of the evacuation, all the homes were dark. Without the constant trampling of kids’ feet, the old trails were overgrown. And now, being caught might have consequences a tad more severe than being grounded.
“Shh,” Angie whispered. “Did you hear something?”
Megan froze, on full alert. Nothing but creaking tree branches, rustling leaves, and from afar, faint sounds of tires on asphalt. “No. Where?”
“To your left.”
Megan turned, and through the filter of her fingers, shone the light in that direction. Two small yellow orbs were reflected in the light, about six inches off the ground. “Fox, maybe. Or a coyote.” She shook a nearby shrub, and they disappeared.
“I had a thought,” Angie said. “Assuming we make it into Rose’s house, how are we going to carry everything out this way?”
Megan paused. Sheesh. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d really had too much champagne. “We’ll pack everything into a suitcase, go out the back door, through the yard to the street. I don’t think they can arrest us for leaving. You can always say we were inside and fell asleep and didn’t hear about the evacuation.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to fly. Maybe we should cut our losses and come back tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe you’re going all straight and narrow on me now,” Megan said.
“I don’t know. I have a feeling something’s wrong.”
“Well, duh. We’re sneaking around in the dark in the middle of the night in an area we’re not supposed to be in. That’s wrong to begin with. Of course you’re going to have one of your feelings now. What if I tell you I have a feeling that everything’s going to be all right?”
Angie glowered. “Then I hope your feelings are stronger than mine. Let’s get this over with.”
Megan took a second to orient herself, pointed the beam of light ahead of her, and started walking, more by instinct than vision. Angie’s footfalls behind Megan reassured her that Angie hadn’t given up on their quest. She slowed. “Closer. Grab my waistband.”
Shoving branches out of her way, Megan forged ahead, ducking and dodging their w
ay through the woods. When Rose’s house appeared as a shadowy structure, as spooky as a haunted house, she stretched out an arm, holding Angie back. Using her flashlight, she illuminated the route to the back porch. “Ready?”
Angie blew out a deep breath. “Ready.” She tugged on Megan’s jeans. “You did bring the keys, right?”
“Keys? I thought you had them.”
The punch to her butt told Megan she hadn’t fooled Angie. Megan twirled the key ring around her finger. “Got ‘em. Ready? On three?”
Megan whispered the count and took off at as rapid a pace as she felt comfortable with in the darkened conditions. It seemed to take forever, but finally, she reached the back porch and climbed the steps, grateful that Justin had repaired them on his last visit. The creaks would have alerted someone in the next county to their presence.
She slotted the key by feel, then eased the door open. She tugged Angie inside and left the door slightly ajar behind them. “Wait here. I’ll make sure the curtains are closed.”
Aiming the covered beam toward the floor, Megan tiptoed quickly to the living room and drew the drapes. She flipped an end table lamp to low and whispered for Angie. “I’m going upstairs to pack Justin’s things and get Rose’s glasses. You’re the lookout.”
“And if someone does show up, what am I supposed to do? Invite them in for coffee? No way. I’m coming up there with you. We’ll be done faster.”
Megan had a brief internal cringe at someone else going through Sam’s things, but it did make sense to bring him a change of clothes and some other familiar items. After all, she was already here. “All right. You gather everything in Justin’s room and put it in his case. I’ll grab some of Sam’s stuff.”
Once again, Megan made sure the curtains were closed before turning on a light. There would be a little leakage, but not enough to alert anyone driving by. She hoped. In Rose and Sam’s bedroom, she went first to Rose’s side of the bed and found her reading glasses inside a quilted caddy tucked between the mattress and the dust ruffle. There was a paperback in there as well, so she plucked it. She found a small carryon in the closet and, feeling even more uncomfortable than she had when she’d gone through Rose’s lingerie, found some clean underwear, undershirts, and a pair of pajamas for Sam. She added a pair of trousers and two shirts, hurriedly folded them and packed them into the case. She scuttled down the hall to Justin’s room. “You done?”
“Got it.” Angie zipped the bag. “Didn’t picture him as a boxers kind of guy, though. His tush seems to demand briefs. Bikini. Tight ones.”
“Sheesh, Angie. Stop that. Let’s go.”
“As long as we’re here, what say we go check the bone site?”
Megan set the case down and fisted her hands at her hips. “Say what? No. No, no, no. No way. That’s what I say.”
“Come on. Aren’t you curious? It’s practically on our way back to the car.”
“And if there are cops anywhere, that’s where they’ll be. Forget it. We’re going back exactly the way we planned.” Megan picked up the case and shut off the light.
“Hey, I can’t see,” Angie said.
Megan clicked on the flashlight. “Now you can. We’re going.”
Downstairs, she sent Angie to wait by the back door with both suitcases while she dealt with the lamp in the living room. As she reached for the switch, headlights from an approaching car bled through the gaps in the curtains. She waited, holding her breath. When the lights continued past, disappearing into the darkness, she exhaled and turned off the light. Without bothering to use the flashlight, she tiptoed through the living room, across the kitchen toward the porch. Where the door was wide open.
And where Angie wasn’t.
Chapter 38
Gordon didn’t know how long it had taken before he realized the rock concert in his dream was his cell phone. He fumbled for the nightstand, where he normally left his phone, but it wasn’t in its usual spot. He rubbed his eyes, slitted his lids open and saw only the glowing red numerals of his clock displaying one-forty-seven. He’d been asleep less than two hours. Groaning, he clicked on the lamp, squinting against the brightness. Where was the damn phone?
By now, it had stopped ringing. He finally found the thing on the floor underneath the bed. He remembered texting Colfax before the world went black.
His eyes barely able to focus, he managed to find the voicemail icon, bouncing impatiently while the call went through. He punched in his code, wishing he could fast-forward through the automatic recording before he heard the message itself.
“Chief Hepler, this is Deputy Kennedy with the Sheriff’s Department. I’ve picked up a Megan Wyatt running away from the evacuation zone. I’m bringing her to the Mapleton station.”
“Is she all right?” Gordon asked, before the recording told him that was the end of the message. Right. Voicemail. Not live. He shook his sleep-fogged head and punched in the number for Dispatch, where Tessa answered.
“Tessa. Gordon Hepler. Have they brought Megan Wyatt in yet? I got a message from a Deputy Kennedy.”
“They’re about seven minutes out,” Tessa said.
“I’m on my way. Let me know as soon as she arrives. I want to talk to her.” Gordon threw on some clean clothes and ran for his SUV. Once he was rolling, he plugged his cell into the charger, put it on speaker, and called Tessa back. “What do you have on the call?”
After a moment, she came back on the line. “Officer responding was a deputy, so he reported to County. Hang on.”
After a much longer interval, Tessa came back again. “Routine report, Chief. Deputy saw someone at the bone site. No ID. Per his instructions, he called it in, and is transporting.”
“No other details?”
“Sorry, Chief. I’ll patch you through when she gets here.”
What had Megan been doing? And, as Gordon’s brain cleared another level of cognizance, where was Angie? Hadn’t Megan been spending the night with her? He had trouble believing Megan would have gone off on her own—not if Angie knew anything about it. And somehow, Megan sneaking off without Angie’s knowledge didn’t play.
He goosed the accelerator and flipped on his light bar.
Minutes ticked by, and no call. If Kennedy and Megan had been seven minutes out, why hadn’t he heard? He turned up the volume on his radio, figuring something Tessa deemed more important must have hit the fan.
When he heard a BOLO being put out for Angie’s car, along with her description, he added the siren and floored it.
He laid rubber as he took the curve into the parking lot. He covered the distance from his SUV to his office door at a dead run, then stormed through his office to the duty officer’s desk.
“Update on Angie Mead?”
“Nothing new. BOLOs are out, so everyone’s on the lookout.”
“Megan Wyatt?”
“Interrogation.”
A distraught and disheveled Megan sat at the small table in the interrogation room, a deputy whom Gordon assumed was Kennedy leaning over her, his hands resting on the scarred Formica tabletop, invading her space. He swiveled as Gordon entered the room.
“Deputy Kennedy?” Gordon displayed his badge. “Gordon Hepler, Chief of Police.”
“Yes, Sir.” Kennedy snapped to attention. He was young, blond, and muscled, projecting the by-the-book attitude so common in new cops. Naturally, Colfax wouldn’t have pulled seasoned officers for something as routine as patrol and perimeter duty. He couldn’t blame him—hell, Gordon had been filling in with his civilian corps. “I’ll take over.”
With a brusque nod, Kennedy marched out of the room. Megan knocked her chair over as she rushed up and wrapped her arms around Gordon. “Thank God you’re here. Angie’s missing. I told her to wait by the door while I turned off the lights and then she was gone. You have to find her.”
Gordon clasped Megan’s hands. “They’re already looking. I need you to tell me everything you know.”
“That deputy’s already asked me a mi
llion questions.” She glared in the direction of the door. “Most of which were based on the assumption that I was a criminal. Do I look like a criminal?”
Gordon almost smiled. Megan was dressed all in black, and a black watch cap rested on the table. Kennedy’d found her sneaking around an evacuation zone, not far from a taped-off crime scene. “Of course not.”
He righted the chair and guided her into it. “Tell me what you know.”
“It’s my fault. I wanted to see Justin on his last night. All I was doing was getting Justin’s things, and Rose’s glasses, and some clean clothes for Sam. We parked up on Cottonwood and went through the woods to the back door of Rose’s house.”
“Whose car?”
“Angie’s. Anyway, we got everything, and I told Angie to wait, and when I came back, she wasn’t there. We’d left the door open, but just a hair. So it would be quieter and faster if we had to make a run for it. When I got there, the suitcases were by the door, but it was wide open. First, I thought Angie had gone to check out the bone site. She’d wanted to, but I said no way. But she can be stubborn.”
“Yes, she can. What did you do next?”
“I wondered if she’d gone to the car, but that didn’t make sense—not without at least one of the suitcases. So I went looking for her. I went to the bone holes, but she wasn’t there. I thought cops would be guarding it, and if they were, I was going to ask them to help me.”
“Everyone was evacuated, remember?”
“Right. Well, I was afraid that maybe Angie had tripped. It was dark and she’s not as familiar with the area, and I had the flashlight. She could have fallen into one of the holes, but they were taped off and she wasn’t in any of them.”
“Any idea how long you were looking before Deputy Kennedy found you?”
She shook her head. “Seemed like forever. But probably not more than half an hour.”
“Go on.”
“The next thing I knew, that deputy told me to freeze.” She choked out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Boy, did I ever. I couldn’t have moved if you’d paid me. Anyway, I tried to tell him who I was, but I didn’t have any ID, or my cell, or anything. It was all at Angie’s. He handcuffed me, Gordon. As if I might hurt him.”
