Skin in the Game

by D P Lyle

  Cain laughed. “A little of each. My parents left me some. Harper’s, too. But we do have a few wealthy clients.”

  “Like General Kessler?”

  Cain shrugged.

  She watched him as he fastened his seat belt and cranked the engine. Handsome, in a rugged yet schoolboy way. Tall, six-three, she guessed, lean, even lanky, with sandy hair that flopped over his forehead, deeply blue eyes, with faint crow’s feet at their corners. Like he laughed a lot. His long fingers slid the gear into drive.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  She pointed ahead. “That way to Elm, then left. It’s a couple of miles.”

  Three blocks down Elm, civilization faded.

  “Beautiful country,” Harper said.

  “It is,” Cutler said. “It’s why I live here.”

  Which was true. One of the many things she liked about Moss Landing. Sure, the lake was cool and fun, but for her the tree-covered hillocks and broad fertile valleys of crops and grassland were what she felt an affinity for. Probably came from growing up on a farm. Only a few miles away from the road they were on. She frequently found herself out here, out of the city, meandering through the countryside. She told herself it was part of her patrols but, in reality, she loved the terrain, and the solitude.

  She twisted slightly in her seat. “What exactly do you do?”

  “I told you,” Cain said. “Private investigations.”

  “Actually, you said you fixed things. That could have a lot of meanings.”

  “True. Basically, we do whatever the client needs.”

  “Which includes?”

  “This and that.”

  She waited but he said nothing for a minute. “Very cryptic. You hiding something?”

  “You sound like a cop.” He offered a smile. His crow’s feet deepened.

  She twisted a few more degrees, facing him more directly. He looked her way.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Give me something. I’m letting you sniff around my case and you haven’t told me anything about yourself.” She glanced back at Harper. “Makes me wonder who you really are.”

  Cain said nothing for a minute as he maneuvered past a pick up truck that had parked along the road’s shoulder.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Some clients need information. We get it. Some need information manipulated. We make that happen. Sometimes someone needs convincing to change their methods of doing business, or whatever.”

  Cutler absorbed that. “It’s the ‘whatever’ I’m most interested in.”

  “Let’s just say we don’t like bullies,” Harper said. “Or criminals. Or those who seek to harm innocent folks.”

  “At least we agree on that.”

  “Bradford said you’re a good cop,” Cain said. “A tough, good cop.”

  “Good to hear that.”

  Cain nodded. “He’s a fan it seems.”

  “It’s mutual. He’s a good guy. And knows what he’s doing.”

  “That was my impression,” Cain said.

  “He was one of my instructors back at the academy.”

  “Looks like he did a good job.”

  “You trying to flatter me?” Cutler asked.

  “Just making an observation.” Cain glanced at her and smiled.

  “Let’s get back to the whatever,” Cutler said. “You ever bring harm to these bad guys?”

  “Some folks aren’t easy to impress. Sometimes words aren’t enough.”

  “You sound like a hit man.”

  He shrugged.

  “Come on? Really?”

  “We fix things,” Harper said.

  “And the circle is complete.”

  Silence fell.

  Then Cutler said, “Left, here.”

  Cain turned onto another blacktop road.

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” Cutler asked.

  “I spent a few years in the Middle East. We both did. Mostly Afghanistan. Lots of death and destruction over there.”

  “And your role in that?”

  “Can’t say. Most of what we were deployed to accomplish was off the radar. Buried in all that classified stuff.”

  “Sounds like CIA black ops shit to me.”

  Cain smiled. “Harper was Navy. I was regular Army.”

  That explained it. What she had sensed. They considered this a mission. The big question being—what was that mission?

  “Jesus,” Cutler said. “Did the General hire you to even a score or something?”

  “He hired us to find his granddaughter,” Cain said.

  “And if she’s dead? What then?”

  “I guess we’ll jump that chasm if and when it arrives.”

  She said nothing for the next mile. Tried to process what he had said. Were they bad guys? Or good guys with boundary issues? From where she sat it could go either way.

  She pointed ahead. “When you cross the railroad tracks up here, take a right.”

  He did.

  “That dirt road up there. About a half a mile. By the feed store sign. Turn up that.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The uneven, deeply-rutted road gyrated the car. Gravel pinged beneath. Ahead, a trio of crows argued over what appeared to be an empty potato chip bag. One took to the air, the other two hopped to the side of the road, eyeing them with cocked heads as the Mercedes rolled by.

  “We should’ve taken my Bronco,” Cutler said. “I don’t think this car was designed for off-roading.”

  Cain smiled. “It’s German. They design them for everything.”

  As they approached a stand of pines, Cutler pointed to a grassy area. “Park there.”

  They climbed from the car. The sun had just crept past its zenith and the heat of the day was in full force. After the car’s AC, it felt sweltering.

  Cutler walked toward the trees, stopping twenty feet away. “The leg was found right here.” She waved a loose circle with one hand. “Buzzards were feeding on it at the time.”

  “Who found it?” Harper asked.

  “Some kids. They saw the buzzards and came to investigate.”

  “Bet that shook them up,” Harper said.

  “Oh yeah. And their parents weren’t any too happy.”

  “Let me guess,” Cain said. “They were beyond their boundaries?”

  “Voice of experience?”

  “You might say.”

  “I get the impression that’s true.”

  Harper smiled. “Bobby never liked to color inside the lines.”

  “Me? Look at you. Acting all innocent.”

  Harper shrugged. “We had a rather unusual upbringing.”

  “We?” Cutler looked from Harper to Cain, back again. “You were raised together?”

  “We’re siblings.”

  Cutler seemed to consider that. “I’d never have guessed.”

  A common reaction. Cain was blonde with blue eyes; Harper, true to her Cherokee heritage, darker, black hair, expresso-colored eyes.

  “Long story,” Cain said.

  “We were raised by gypsies,” Harper said. “At least that’s how the family presented itself.”

  Cain laughed. “Right up until the FBI came and hauled everyone away.”

  “The FBI?” Cutler asked.

  “Let’s say our family didn’t follow the rules all that often.”

  Cutler shook her head. “Why do I get the impression that that rubbed off on both of you?”

  “Nature and nurture,” Harper said. “Bobby was born mischievous. I had to learn it.”

  “She was a good student,” Cain said.

  That got a laugh from Cutler.

  Cain refocused on the task at hand. “The remains were found here? In this open area?”

  “Just the leg.” Cutler shielded the sun from her eyes. “The other remains were found in there.”

  She pointed toward the trees, then headed that way. Cain and Harper followed. Beneath the canopy, the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Thirty yards in, Cutler stopped near
an excavation in the soil.

  “The body had been buried here. Pigs dug it up. Ate most of it. Dragged the leg out into the field, I suspect.”

  “I’m sure you gave the entire area a thorough search,” Harper said.

  “We did. And sifted the soil. But what you saw at the ME’s office is all we found.”

  Cain knelt and examined the shallow grave. “Actually not a bad place to dispose of a body.”

  “Yeah, unless a pack of feral pigs shows up.”

  “Best laid plans have a way of going sideways,” Harper said.

  Cain stood. “Who owns this property?”

  “Clovis Wilson. A local farmer. Owns a lot of parcels around here.”

  “He offer any helpful information?” Cain asked.

  “None.” Cutler nodded back toward where they had come from. “That’s one of his cotton fields. Past couple of months he was plowing and planting. Said he had been out here nearly every day. Saw nothing suspicious.”

  “The corpse was probably dumped at night,” Harper said.

  “That’s a good bet. Not much nighttime traffic out here, so it wouldn’t be difficult to sneak in.”

  Cain circled the grave site, examined the terrain around it. Dirt, pine needles, scattered with gravel and patches of limestone. Perfect for gouging the feet of the victim. He told Cutler of the ME’s findings—the pre-mortem and post-mortem wounds.

  “Whoa,” she said. “You’re saying someone chased that poor girl down and killed her?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “That’s pure evil.” She looked around. “And changes everything.” She shook her head. “I mean….” She stopped as if she had lost her train of thought. Or maybe hadn’t completely processed everything yet. She looked at Cain. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s the ME’s opinion. Sure looked that way to me.”

  “This kind of crazy crap doesn’t happen around here.”

  “See?” Cain said. “Small town crimes can be as bad as they come.”

  “But, this?” She massaged one temple. “I knew it had been too quiet around here lately.”

  Cain didn’t envy her. Small department, probably only a few officers, and now a crime that would stress their resources to the max. And scare the living hell out of the locals. Probably attract the media types like sugar does ants.

  Once they returned to the car, Cutler’s phone buzzed. She answered. Cain and Harper climbed in and waited. Cranking up the car, and the AC. Cutler walked back and forth, phone to her ear, brow furrowed. She ended the call and settled in the passenger seat.

  “That was the ME,” Cutler said. “The remains are Rose Sanders.”

  “Your school teacher?”

  “Yep.” She looked at him. “Sorry it didn’t help your search.”

  “I didn’t expect it would.”

  Cutler took a breath, pulsing out her cheeks as she exhaled. “Now I have the pleasure of trying to track down one malignant SOB.”

  “Anything we can do to help?” Cain asked.

  She eyed him. “Don’t see how. Unless you have the nose of a bloodhound.”

  Cain laughed.

  “What now? For you?” she asked.

  “Guess we’ll head back to Nashville.”

  “We have a big barbecue down at the marina later this afternoon. It’s an annual thing. You guys should stay. If you can.”

  Cain had seen signs that hawked the event but hadn’t paid attention to the date. Didn’t know it was today.

  “We wouldn’t want to intrude,” Harper said.

  “You wouldn’t be. You’d be my guests. And you’d enjoy it. The food will be outstanding.” She cocked her head. “Give you a chance to see that folks here in Moss Landing aren’t all sociopaths.”

  “What do you think?” Cain asked Harper.

  “Sounds like fun. This is a cool town and an evening out of Nashville would be welcome. And I never turn down good barbecue.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Besides, we’re out of moves until your pimp-daddy website is set up.”

  “Somehow I don’t see you as a pimp,” Cutler said to him.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cain swung the car around and regained the gravel road. “Any place to stay around here?”

  “We have a great B&B right downtown.”

  “That’ll work.”

  “I’ll call them. Make them give you a good deal.”

  “Remember? We have an expense account,” Harper said.

  “Wish someone would give me one of those.”

  CHAPTER 22

  It looked as if half the town had turned out for the BBQ. Several hundred of them, anyway. Their collective murmurings were interrupted by bursts of laughter and screams from an adjacent open field, beyond an array of picnic tables, where wads of children played on brightly-colored playground equipment and chased each other in no discernible pattern. The frenetic energy of youth.

  Three canopied pavilions squatted near the water’s edge. One shaded a long table piled with platters of ribs, pulled pork, and chicken quarters, as well as massive bowls of potato salad, coleslaw, and cornbread muffins. Another contained tables scattered with pies, cakes, cookies, and what looked to be bread pudding. The third housed a bar, where folks collected cups of wine and beer to wash down the feast.

  A pair of barrel-like barbecue pits, mounted on low trailers, pumped rich smoke skyward. The late-afternoon sun hung above a forested hill, its shadow creeping toward the gathering, while a gentle breeze off the lake chased away some of the heat. Still warm, but now with a tinge of coolness.

  Since they had eaten lunch, they stood under a tree just outside the drink pavilion. Many of the people who walked by said ‘good afternoon’ to Cutler, while eyeing Cain and Harper with apparent curiosity. Asking themselves who these folks with the Chief were, no doubt. Cain was sure she would field more than a few questions over the next couple of days. Small towns always noticed strangers.

  One couple stopped to chat. The man, heavy-set with thinning hair, full cheeks, and a mouth that turned down slightly at the corners, wore a Hawaiian shirt over tan Chinos. The fit-appearing woman wore fitted jeans and a rose silk shirt.

  “This is our mayor,” Cutler said. “Tom Mills. And his wife Emily.” Cutler nodded toward us. “This is Bobby Cain and Harper McCoy.”

  They shook hands. The mayor’s soft, his wife’s firm.

  “Welcome to our fair city,” Tom said. He smiled as he surveyed the crowd. “As you can see, we like to have a good time around here.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “You visiting? Maybe looking to relocate?”

  “They’re investigating a missing person,” Cutler said.

  Concern creased Mills’ face. “Someone from here?”

  Cain shook his head. “College student from Nashville.”

  “You think they might’ve come this way? Something like that?”

  “No. But she’s been missing over a week. When we learned of the remains Chief Cutler found, we figured we’d better drive down and check it out.”

  Mills looked at Cutler. “That turned out to be that school teacher from Lynchburg. Right? Rose, something?”

  “Sanders,” Cutler said.

  “That’s so awful,” Emily said. “We don’t have things like that happen around here.”

  “I suspect that’s true,” Cain said. “But unfortunately no community is immune.”

  Mills nodded his agreement. “Is there anything the Mayor’s office can do to help you two?”

  “I don’t think so,” Harper said. “It’s unlikely our young lady is down this way. It was a long shot to drive down.” She glanced at Cutler. “But your Chief has been very helpful.”

  Mills smiled. “She is the best.” He laid a fatherly hand on Cutler’s shoulder. “We’re lucky to have her.”

  “That’s for sure,” Emily said.

  “You should give her a raise,” Cain said.

  He laug
hed and looked at Cutler. “You put him up to that?”

  “No,” Cain said. “I just know she works hard.”

  “That she does. But our budget only goes so far.” Mills looked around, obviously ready to move on, ready to end this conversation. “We’ll let you folks get some food.” Then to Cain and Harper, “Nice meeting you.”

  Cain watched them walk away. They stopped to chat with another couple. “Seem like nice people.”

  “Emily’s a real peach,” Cutler said. “Tom can be a pain in the ass. Especially around budget time.”

  “In my experience that’s pretty much universal. The battle between the police and the mayor.”

  “Doesn’t make it any more fun, though.” She looked at Cain. “But thanks for the plug anyway.”

  Cain and Harper grabbed a couple of beers, handed to them directly from an ice-filled wash tub. Cutler declined. They headed toward the collection of picnic tables. A woman at the far table waved, motioning them toward her.

  Cutler halted her strides. “How tough are you guys?” she asked.

  “Meaning?” Harper asked.

  “My mother.”

  “Your mother? We need to be tough for your mother?”

  Cutler shook her head. “You have no idea.”

  The woman looked like an older version of Cutler. She was working her way through a plate of ribs. They sat on the bench seat across from her.

  “This is Bobby Cain and Harper McCoy,” Cutler said. “Jean. My mother.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Cain said.

  Jean held up her hands. Decorated with barbecue sauce. “I’d shake your hands but then you’d need a shower.” She laughed. “Where’d my daughter find you two?”

  “Mother,” Cutler said. “Be nice.”

  “Nice, schmice.”

  Cain smiled. “Actually, we found her.”

  “Well now, there’s a story.”

  “They’re looking for a missing girl,” Cutler said.

  “You cops, too?”

  “No,” Cain said. “More private.”

  “And this missing girl is here in Moss Landing?”

  Cain shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Jean licked her fingers. “Then it doesn’t make much sense to look for her around here, does it?”

  “Mother doesn’t have much of a filter,” Cutler said. “Whatever pops in her head comes out of her mouth.”