Rock Harbor Series - 01 - Without a Trace

by Colleen Coble

  Bree’s suspicion of him bothered him more than he liked to admit, but maybe she had good reason. His thoughts turned to Eric, and he sighed. Things could get ugly.

  Why are you walking so fast?”

  Naomi’s plaintive voice brought Bree up short. She stopped and turned with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. There has to be some clue out here we’re missing.” She dug a handful of pistachios out of her backpack. “I’d offer you some, but I know you’d just turn them down.” Biting reflectively into a nut, she nodded toward the forest. “Time to get back to work.” She tossed the nutshells to the ground and dusted her hands on her jeans.

  “You seem positively . . . driven about this, Bree.” Naomi’s chest heaved from exertion. “What’s up with that? Mason can handle the investigation.” She finally caught up with Bree. “That’s his job.”

  Bree chewed on a nut. “I know the story about the woman and the airplane seat is probably nothing, but what if it’s not? The only way to find out what Fay knew is to retrace her steps, and if that involves finding out who killed her, so be it.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just trying to find a reason not to give up the search?”

  Bree swallowed and turned away. Naomi’s words had hit a little too close for comfort. “That’s not it at all,” she said. “I should be done with the quadrant by the new year. I’m done then if I don’t find them. I told you, Anu is helping me get started with training search-and-rescue dogs. I’ve even started looking for a place. But I have to give it my best shot until then.”

  “Just so you don’t go overboard,” Naomi said.

  Bree scanned the landscape. Both dogs began to bark then ran toward an object along the riverbank. A flash of red drew her attention, and she squinted. “What’s that, Naomi?”

  “I think it’s her backpack!” Bree ran after the dogs. As she drew nearer, the red object came more into focus, and she smiled in triumph. Samson picked up a stick, his signal of a find, and brought it to her. She paused long enough to praise her dog then followed him to the backpack.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Naomi warned. “Mason will want to run forensics on it.”

  Bree drew back her hand. Naomi was right, but she longed to open the backpack and see if it held any clues to Fay’s death. “You got the cell phone with you?”

  Naomi nodded. “I’ll call it in.”

  Bree was thankful Kade waited with them for the hour it took the sheriff to arrive, though she knew she needed to get back to work. The dark shadows in the woods spooked her. Mason and his deputies arrived and Kade left to find his horse.

  It was another hour before Janna and her forensics team arrived. Bree and Naomi stood out of the way and watched as they went over the backpack and combed the surrounding area for clues. Bree shifted her feet restlessly, wishing she could peer inside the pack herself. She knew Fay, and these strangers didn’t.

  “I think we can wrap it up now,” Janna finally said. Mason stood and nodded to his officers. He joined Bree and Naomi at the edge of the action. “Good work,” he told them.

  His praise warmed Bree. “Any idea how the pack got down here?” she asked. “It’s at least a mile from the cliff.”

  Mason shook his head. “No teeth marks from animals, which would have been my first assumption. My gut feeling is that the killer dumped it. But maybe the lab can come up with something.”

  “What was in her backpack?”

  “The usual. Climbing gear like pitons, rope, a compass, that kind of thing. A bottle of water. No food, which would explain why the animals left it alone. Oh, and a notebook of some kind.” He grimaced. “The backpack seems to be a dead end.” His penetrating gaze lingered on her face. “This has really gotten to you, hasn’t it?”

  Bree nodded. “Not much I can do to fix it.”

  Mason shook his head at her dejected tone. “You’re a crusader, Bree. If you’d been a man during the Middle Ages, you would have been the first to vie for a seat at King Arthur’s Round Table. But you can’t right every wrong. Sometimes bad things happen to good people.” His voice held kindness, and he clasped her shoulder. “Innocent people like little Davy. You can’t stop it from happening, and you can’t fix it. The sooner you realize that, the easier time you’ll have.”

  Bree didn’t know what to say. “Could I take a look at the notebook when forensics is done?”

  Mason released her shoulder then put his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll see,” he said with heavy resignation. “Steve will want to see it first, and it will be up to him whether to let you look at it. Now I’ve got to get back to town.” He joined his deputies and they began to wrap up.

  Bree, Naomi, and the dogs went back the way they’d come, clambering over huge boulders and picking their way over slick stones along the water. Bree pulled an unopened bag of pistachios from her pocket. Before she could open them, the back of Bree’s neck began to prickle. She whirled around, expecting to find someone standing behind her, but there was no one there. Samson whined, and she gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry, boy, I must be going wacko.”

  “What is it?” Naomi asked.

  “Nothing.” Bree said.

  The dog didn’t seem to sense anything, but then he often ignored scents he hadn’t been told to search for. Bree started off toward the Jeep again. The tingling feeling returned in a rush, and she glanced around uneasily as her breath became sharp in her chest. Another panic attack? She fought the encroaching terror.

  Her gaze scanned the shrubs around her, but she saw nothing. Still, the feeling of being watched persisted. If she told Naomi, she’d likely say it was God pursuing her. She shook her head nervously. More likely it was her imagination; Samson and Charley remained unconcerned. But all her self-reassurances failed to quell her panic.

  Her pace quickened, and the bag of nuts slipped from her hand. She and Naomi were practically running by the time they got to her Jeep. She opened the back door and let Samson in then slid quickly into the driver’s seat. Starting the Jeep, she slammed it into reverse and floored the accelerator. Bits of gravel spit from under her tires, and the vehicle roared toward town.

  Her breath fogged in front of her in plumes. Rachel rushed from tree to tree and watched until the red Jeep disappeared from view. She bent over at the waist, panting with exertion. A bag of nuts lay at her feet. Sam loved nuts. She picked up the bag and stuffed it into her pack.

  Her breathing finally relaxed. She wasn’t as young as she used to be. There had once been a time when crowds cheered as her long legs ate up the fifty yards to the finish line. Now those same legs were layered with more fat than muscle, and the last crowds she’d heard had been howling for her conviction.

  People were too quick to judge others. Just because she lived alone and worked with old folks, the public had been quick to believe she would kill to put them out of their misery. They didn’t understand that the love of her work came from the friendships she’d formed with these elderly folks. She’d been innocent.

  Rachel worried her lower lip between her teeth. Those women and their dogs had been too close. Could the one woman be Sam’s mother? Same red hair. Rachel set her jaw. No. It was ridiculous. Besides, he belonged to her now. With his hair dyed brown, he didn’t even look like the same boy. She had to find some way to get that red-haired woman’s focus away from here. At least until Rachel found a job somewhere. Maybe she would hear soon from the applications she’d mailed out yesterday.

  She could feel the blood pumping through her veins as she walked toward the cabin. Sam would want his lunch. “Such a good boy, so obedient, a boy any mother would be proud of.” She said it aloud now, and the pride she felt calmed her anxiousness.

  Nearly an hour and a half later, Rachel located the path she’d marked in such subtle ways only an expert would be able to follow it. Her gaze scanned the clearing. Sam had stacked the wood she’d chopped before heading to town. Some of it had fallen over, but for such a young child, his efforts were pra
iseworthy. Her lips curved in approval.

  She cocked her head and listened, but the only sound in the clearing was the rasp of her own breathing. Sam must be inside, where she’d told him to stay once he finished his chores. Rachel pushed up the sleeve of her wool jacket and glanced at the watch on her wrist. Nearly two. Sam was probably starved. Though she always fixed him a peanut butter sandwich before she went on her excursions, he rarely ate it until she walked in the door.

  She didn’t know whether that was because he didn’t like to eat alone or because his fear of being abandoned killed his appetite. Her own stomach rumbled like an avalanche coming down Squaw Peak, and her pace quickened.

  Sam was sitting on a chair at the table. His peanut butter sandwich lay before him, unwrapped and drying. Jerking his head around at her entrance, he stared at her through frightened green eyes. A tremulous smile touched his lips as Rachel went quickly toward him.

  “You still haven’t eaten, son. Were you waiting for Mother?”

  Sam nodded. “My tummy’s hungry.”

  “You don’t always have to wait for me, darling. That’s why Mother fixed you a sandwich before I went to town. I don’t want your tummy to complain. You go ahead and eat, and I’ll fix me something and join you.”

  Sam looked down at his sandwich with obvious reluctance then picked it up and bit into it. He chewed slowly, his gaze fixed on Rachel. She hurriedly tossed her knapsack on the floor and went to the old table that served as her counter. She slathered peanut butter on bread then mixed Carnation milk powder into a glass of water and gave it to Sam.

  “Drink up, son. Milk gives you strong bones.” She eased herself onto the other chair.

  Sam drank it down with gusto, his upper lip coated with white by the time he set the glass back on the table. “Can we have reading lessons after we eat?”

  “Maybe. I saw you got the wood stacked.”

  He nodded, his face bright from the approval in her tone. “And I made my bed. Yours too.” His small chest swelled with pride as he said the last.

  “What a good boy you are! I brought you a surprise.”

  “You did? Can I have it now?” He gulped the last bite of his sandwich. “I’m all done with lunch.”

  “Bring me my knapsack.” Rachel’s heart felt as though it might burst with love for the boy—her son, she reminded herself—as he jumped to his feet and limped across the floor to her discarded bag. It was too heavy for him to pick up, but that didn’t stop Sam. He grabbed it by one strap and tugged it across the rough floor until it lay at Rachel’s feet.

  “Can I look inside?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it. I might have another surprise for later,” she said with a wink. She’d picked up a surprise for him after she mailed her letters. She drew the knapsack onto her lap and opened the flap. Sam’s eyes widened when he saw the bag of nuts in her hand. “’Stachios,” he squealed. He clapped his hands together. “Can I shell them?”

  “If you think you’re big enough.”

  “I’m big now. See how big my hands are now?” He held out his small hands for her inspection.

  “I had no idea,” she said solemnly. “Okay, you are now the official sheller of nuts. Do you need the nutcracker?”

  “Oh yes, please,” he breathed.

  Rachel kept the nutcracker in a chest beside the supply cabinet. She didn’t need the nutcracker for pistachios, but it helped Sam manage the task, and he got such pleasure out of using it. “You can get it out,” she told him.

  He raced to the chest and threw open the lid. His small face shone when he pulled out the nutcracker soldier. Running his fingers lovingly over the chipped and worn paint, he brought it back to the table and climbed back onto his chair.

  “It might be easier for you to use it on the rug,” Rachel suggested. She helped him get started shelling the nuts then settled back on her chair and watched him.

  His lower lip was caught between small white teeth, a frown of concentration furrowing the spot between his eyes. An aching wave of love washed over her as she watched the boy. Her son. Hers alone. And no one would ever take him from her.

  11

  The puppies tumbled over one another in the large metal cage and barked in high yips. Rock Harbor’s humane society reeked of animals, but the doggie smell was as fine as the most expensive Paris perfume to Bree. Between fruitless searches on her days off and a busy sale going on at the store since Monday, she’d looked forward to this ever since Lauri called on Wednesday and asked her to help her pick out a puppy. Bree had called Palmer and coaxed him into meeting them here. Saturday wasn’t a busy day at his fitness center, and he’d finally agreed.

  Now Lauri sat on the floor surrounded by puppies, and the sound of her laughter warmed Bree’s heart. Lily and Palmer had brought the twins as well, and their squeals of delight brightened the scene even more.

  “I want this one,” Lauri announced. She picked up a black-and-white puppy and rubbed his fat belly. “His name is Zorro.”

  “You’ve made a good choice,” Bree said, nodding in approval. “His eyes are clear and intelligent, and from his coloring, I’d say he has some Border collie in him. Borders are good search dogs.” She scratched the pup’s head, and he wiggled all over with joy. “You realize your brother is going to kill me? He didn’t want a dog. Did you even tell him you asked me to help you today?”

  Lauri dropped her gaze guiltily and shook her head. “But he’ll get over it when he sees how darling Zorro is,” Lauri said.

  Bree wasn’t so sure. She’d noticed the tension between Lauri and Kade at the O’Reilly house and could sense the rebellion in Lauri. She hated to make things worse.

  “I’ll be your training center’s first customer.” Lauri nestled the dog against her, and Zorro nibbled on her chin. Bree laughed and patted the puppy’s head.

  “And we’ll be the second,” Palmer said. “What about this pup, Bree?” He held a yellow Lab in his cupped hands.

  “Oh, he’s darling,” Bree said. “He’s a good choice too. He’ll make a loving, loyal pet. Are you getting one for each of the girls?”

  “I think we’d better start off with just one,” Palmer said.

  “He’s afraid he’ll be the one stuck taking the dog for walks until the girls are old enough to do it,” Lily said.

  “I already know that will be my job.” The playful whine in Palmer’s voice made them all laugh.

  “Now these pups have all had their shots,” Mathilda Worrell said. The older woman shuffled across the floor to her desk.

  For as long as Bree could remember, Mathilda had run the animal shelter, though she must be nearly seventy by now. With hair as white and springy as fresh baby’s-breath, her faded blue eyes peered through gold spectacles with such genuine love and interest that no one ever took offense at her meddling. Everyone from the mayor to the children called her Aunt Mathilda. She’d always seemed indomitable, but today Bree noticed a bit of grayness in her normally pink skin as the woman lowered herself into a desk chair and gave an uncharacteristic sigh.

  “Are you all right, Aunt Mathilda?” Bree hurried to the desk when the older woman put a hand to her forehead.

  “Fine, fine.” Aunt Mathilda waved a hand in Bree’s direction. “This dratted murder has just been wearing on my mind. I’ve spoken to the Lord about it nearly every night, but he is silent on the subject. For the life of me, I can’t imagine who would want to hurt that sweet child.”

  “Sweet child” was not how Bree would have described Fay. Self-centered forest sprite maybe. But Aunt Mathilda never saw bad in anyone.

  “Folks are saying it was her husband. You don’t think Steve would do something like that, do you? You know I don’t like to gossip, but folks are scared. With Fay dead, we have to watch out for one another. It worries me so to wonder who in town could be capable of such an act,” Aunt Mathilda said.

  “It could have been anyone.” Bree was barely listening as her thoughts drifted back to Fay’s death. It did see
m odd that Steve had asked her to look for Fay but refused to go along. Fay had often complained about his obsession with his work, but maybe he used work as an excuse to stay away from a wife he didn’t love. The line between love and hate could be blurry.

  Aunt Mathilda finished writing the receipt for Lauri’s dog. “He’ll make you a good pet, dear.”

  Lauri threw her arms around Bree. “Thanks so much for helping me get a puppy,” she said, her face shining. “When can we start training him?”

  “First, we’ll just work on obedience and establishing yourself as the alpha dog.”

  Lauri grinned. “I’m the alpha dog? What’s that?”

  “Sounds like science fiction,” Palmer said.

  “There’s a pecking order in a household, and puppies need to discover the place doesn’t revolve around them. Since they’re so young, it shouldn’t be too hard for them to figure that out. You’re the boss of his pack, the alpha dog.” Bree scratched Zorro’s ears, and the dog squirmed with delight then peed on Lauri.

  “Oh no!” Lauri held him away from her wet sweatshirt. “Bad Zorro!”

  She started to swat him, but Bree stopped her. “You only want to punish him for disobedience. He’s just a puppy. He’ll learn to control his bladder just like children learn to use the toilet.” She smiled to soften the sting. “Give him some time.”

  Lauri nodded and, still holding the puppy away from her shirt, started toward the door.

  “We’ll run Lauri home,” Lily said.

  “Thanks,” Bree said. “Work on bonding with your dogs for the next few days. This weekend, concentrate on calling him to you then rewarding him when he comes. He has to learn he’s your dog. And when he comes to greet you after school or work, walk in and don’t make a fuss over him. If you make a huge fuss, he’ll think he’s the alpha dog. That will cause him stress when you leave and he can’t protect you. Start off right, and it will make things a lot easier. Palmer, you figure out a name for yours yet?”