Redemption at Hawk's Landing

by Rita Herron

  “Did they have other children?” Honey asked.

  Harrison nodded. “An older daughter. I’m not sure what happened to her.”

  The door opened, and a fiftysomething woman with a thick, silver-streaked bob answered the door. A tall thin man with hunched shoulders stood behind her, puffing on a cigarette.

  Harrison identified himself, then Honey. “May we come in?”

  “I don’t know how we can help you,” Mr. Armond said.

  “I just need a few minutes.” Harrison brushed past the woman, and Honey followed.

  The house was outdated with worn linoleum, yellowing tile, and smelled of dog. She spotted food and water bowls at the edge of the laundry room, then saw a big, furry animal sprawled on a towel in the kitchen.

  “You want coffee?” Mrs. Armond asked.

  Harrison declined, and Honey thanked her but shook her head. The woman led them to the den, where a plaid couch and recliner flanked the fireplace.

  They took seats and Mr. Armond stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Do you have new information about Yvonne?”

  Harrison’s jaw tightened. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “But my sister disappeared from the small town of Tumbleweed a few months before your daughter went missing. I’m still working her case. It’s possible the two are connected.”

  Mrs. Armond’s eyes widened. “You think the same person kidnapped them?”

  “I’m not sure, but answering my questions could help us both.”

  Mr. Armond rubbed the back of his neck with a groan. “Do we have to drag this up again?” Pain underscored his tone. “Every time we do, Irene doesn’t sleep for weeks. We get our hopes up and then get all disappointed again. We can’t take it anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Harrison said. “I understand how you feel. My family and I have suffered the same way.”

  Mrs. Armond twisted her hands in her lap. Honey stroked one freckled hand to calm her twitching. “Trust me, he wants to help.”

  Mr. Armond started to speak again, but his wife pressed her hand over his. “Let’s talk to him. Maybe this time we’ll get some answers. If we find our baby, we can finally put her to rest and she’ll be at peace.”

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU want to know?” Mrs. Armond asked.

  Harrison knew damn well how difficult it was sitting in this couple’s shoes, being questioned by the police, at the same time wondering if the people were trying to pin the crime on you.

  “Tell us about the day your daughter went missing, and the days before. Sometimes we remember things after time passes that can help.” He gave the couple an understanding smile. “Even if my sister’s disappearance isn’t related, fresh eyes and ears can pick up things that others missed.”

  She nodded, and she and her husband grasped hands. Comforting to see that even though they’d lost a child, it hadn’t completely broken them apart as it had his parents.

  Then again...his mother’s affair and Chrissy’s paternity had been a double-edged sword.

  Mr. Armond removed another cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. “Yvonne was ten years old,” he said in a voice that sounded far away, as if he was literally traveling back in time. “She liked softball, climbing trees and animals.”

  Harrison smiled, his heart aching. “My sister was a tomboy, too. Of course, she had to be. She had four brothers.”

  The couple shared a soft laugh. “I imagine so,” Mrs. Armond said. “Our other daughter, Hazel, is the opposite. Such a girlie girl.”

  “Did they get along?” Honey asked.

  Mrs. Armond fidgeted again. “Most of the time. Hazel tried to get Yvonne interested in girlie things like pretty clothes and lipstick and hair ribbons.”

  “Ribbons?” Harrison said, the memory of Chrissy playing with the ribbons in her treasure box taunting him.

  Mrs. Armond nodded. “Hazel spent her allowance at the sale rack, buying ribbon by the yard. She tied them around her ponytail, and she learned how to make bows and hot glued them to barrettes.”

  Mr. Armond leaned forward, then dropped the cigarette onto the coffee table. “Is that important?”

  Harrison exhaled slowly. “It might be.” He paused. “Go on.”

  “Yvonne had a lot of friends in school,” Mrs. Armond continued. “She played soccer and liked mystery books, and she loved animals, especially horses. We used to have an old mare that she rode. She loved rodeos so much that for her birthday, we got tickets...”

  “God, I regret that,” Mr. Armond said.

  Honey stiffened, but Harrison forced himself not to react. “She disappeared at the rodeo?”

  Yvonne’s mother clung to her husband’s hand. “Yes.”

  “If we’d stayed home that day, Yvonne might still be with us,” Mr. Armond choked out.

  “I’m so sorry,” Honey said softly. “But it’s not your fault. You loved her and wanted to make her happy.”

  Anguish wrenched the woman’s face as she wiped at fresh tears.

  “Tell me about that day,” Harrison said. “Did your other daughter go with you?”

  Mrs. Armond nodded. “Yes. She wanted to stay home with her boyfriend, but we insisted it was a family event and we were celebrating Yvonne’s birthday.” She paused, sweat beading her forehead.

  “Her boyfriend showed up,” Mr. Armond continued. “Hazel slipped off to meet him and left Yvonne alone at the concession stand.”

  Harrison’s stomach churned. “That’s when she went missing?” he asked softly.

  The couple both nodded, grief emanating from them.

  Harrison forced his voice to remain calm, nonjudgmental. “Did Hazel see anyone watching Yvonne or paying attention to her?”

  “No,” Mr. Armond said with a slight tinge of bitterness. “She said Yvonne went to get a snow cone. She was infatuated with the balloons. Hazel figured she just wandered off. So she went to make out with this guy while her sister was taken.”

  Harrison gritted his teeth. The scenario could have fitted a hundred child abductions.

  If a predator was hunting, watching for an opportunity, he pounced when given one.

  “How old was Hazel at the time?” he asked.

  Mrs. Armond wiped at her eyes again. “Fourteen.”

  “She blamed herself,” Mr. Armond said. “She went into a depression, and for a while we thought we’d lost her, too.”

  “We were so distraught ourselves that we were rough on her at first,” Mr. Armond added grimly.

  “But we went to counseling,” Mrs. Armond added. “We realized that Hazel was just a kid and we forgave her.”

  “Did she forgive herself?” Harrison asked.

  The woman shook her head sadly. “I don’t think so. She works with troubled kids now through a YMCA.”

  Harrison felt a kinship with Hazel. “Is there anything else you can think of about that day? Did you see strangers, perhaps a vendor or rodeo worker watching your daughter?”

  They both looked lost, as if they were struggling for details.

  “There was a group of mentally challenged and handicapped children there.” Mrs. Armond stroked the chain of her necklace, then rubbed her fingers over a chip attached to the end. A sobriety chip from AA. “She talked to all of those kids.”

  “She talked to a teenager mucking the stalls, too,” Mr. Armond said. “But the sheriff questioned him and he was cleared.”

  Frustration gnawed at Harrison. He’d hoped to get a concrete suspect, but just as the sheriff’s report stated, they hadn’t narrowed down one.

  Still, their conversation confirmed that the cases might be connected. That a serial predator had been hunting in Texas for years.

  It was high time someone stopped him.

  Chapter Eighteen
/>
  “Did detectives question people at the rodeo?” Harrison asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Armond said. “One lady saw Yvonne talking to a rodeo clown. A teenager claimed she saw her at the cotton candy stand.”

  “Were there security cameras?”

  Mr. Armond shook his head. “Not back then.”

  Damn, that would have helped.

  “You never received a ransom note or message of any kind?” Harrison asked.

  “No.” Mrs. Armond’s voice broke. “Not that we had any money, but we would have done everything possible to raise some if we’d received a note.”

  Harrison cleared his throat. “Did Yvonne have anything with her when she was taken?”

  “What do you mean?” Mr. Armond asked.

  “Like a backpack or toy?”

  “She liked real horses but she was obsessed with unicorns,” Mrs. Armond said. “We gave her a stuffed one for her birthday. She had it with her that day.”

  “Was it recovered after she disappeared?” Harrison asked.

  “No.” Mrs. Armond picked up a photo book from the coffee table, flipped through the pages and showed them a picture of Yvonne wearing a birthday hat and hugging the colorful unicorn.

  One of Mrs. Armond’s teardrops fell on the picture book. “Before we went to the rodeo, she braided the unicorn’s mane and tied it with ribbons.”

  Mr. Armond curved his arm around his wife and pulled her against him in a comforting gesture.

  “I hoped we’d find it and it would lead us to Yvonne, but the longer she was gone, I just prayed she had it with her. It would have given her comfort.”

  Harrison hissed a breath. “Could I see her room?”

  Mrs. Armond stood slowly. Her husband snatched the cigarette and lit it.

  He and Honey followed Mrs. Armond down the hall past the master bedroom to the room on the end. “I haven’t changed a thing since we lost her. I kept hoping she’d come back and...”

  Pick up where they’d left off.

  “My mother kept my sister’s room just as she’d left it, too,” he said, his throat thickening.

  Mrs. Armond gave him a knowing smile, obviously grateful he understood. Like his family, so many people told them they needed to move on. Pack up Chrissy’s things and give them away. Turn her room into a guest room or a media room or office.

  But doing that meant forgetting about her, erasing her from their lives as if she never existed.

  That was something he and his family could never do.

  * * *

  HONEY’S HEART ACHED for this couple. Just like the Hawks, their lives had been torn apart by the loss of a child.

  How did one overcome such a tragedy? Parents weren’t supposed to bury their children. It should be the other way around.

  Harrison looked solemn as they entered Yvonne’s room. A pink ruffled bedspread with matching curtains added a feminine touch, although the bookcase held plastic toy ponies and a framed photograph of Yvonne playing T-ball.

  Children’s books lined the shelves as well, and a jewelry box took center stage. Harrison tugged on latex gloves and opened the box, revealing an assortment of plastic necklaces, beads and rings. A wooden doll with braids made of yarn held an assortment of colorful bows.

  Harrison used his phone to snap pictures of the room and items inside. True to Mrs. Armond’s words, the little girl’s clothes still hung in the closet. A bright pink jacket hung next to a pink cowboy hat. Cowboy boots, sneakers and black patent leather shoes lined the shoe shelf.

  Tears blurred Honey’s eyes. The furniture looked polished as if the Armonds kept it clean, just waiting for Yvonne’s return.

  Harrison rifled through school notebooks on the child’s desk. Honey spotted a diary, picked it up and skimmed several entries. Typical ten-year-old comments about her friends at school, the horse she wanted her parents to buy for her at the stable where she rode, and a boy at the stables who annoyed her because he pulled her pigtails.

  Honey smiled. Two years later and she probably would have had a crush on the kid.

  “I don’t see anything helpful,” Harrison said. “I’m going to request a copy of the file on the investigation. Maybe the detective mentioned a similarity to Chrissy’s case.”

  “Maybe.” Although so far, nothing had stuck out.

  The Armonds were standing at the door waiting, a wistful sadness emanating from them.

  “Please let us know if you learn anything,” Mr. Armond said.

  Harrison promised he would, then Honey followed him outside.

  “What do you think?” Honey asked as they got in the SUV.

  “The only commonality so far is the age of the girls and that they both liked ribbons in their hair. But most little girls do.”

  “That’s true,” Honey agreed.

  “Yvonne disappeared from a public event, the rodeo, where strangers as well as numerous workers and cowboys were in attendance.”

  “Still, no one saw anything,” Honey said. “If someone wanted to kidnap her, he could have lured her away with a toy, balloons, even a rodeo animal.”

  “But Chrissy disappeared from the bluff where a bunch of teenagers were hanging out. Unless one of them also attended the rodeo, I don’t see how we’re dealing with the same perp.”

  “Did you suspect anyone at the bluff?” Honey asked.

  Harrison drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulled from the drive. “My brother mentioned that one of his friends shoved Chrissy that night. Geoffrey Williams.”

  Harrison snatched his phone and punched a number. “Lucas, I just talked to the Armonds. Their daughter disappeared from a rodeo. Check and see if Geoffrey Williams attended that rodeo.”

  A hesitation. “Okay, thanks. Let me know what you learn from the Ritter family.”

  He ended the call and rolled his shoulders. “You wanted to check on one of your projects. Which way?”

  Honey directed him toward the neighborhood south of Austin where her latest renovation was underway.

  She wondered what Harrison would think of her work. For some reason, she wanted to show him that she’d risen above her white trash roots and made something of herself.

  * * *

  HARRISON WOVE THROUGH the streets of Austin, his heart hammering. He sensed he was onto something with the case, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

  Traffic sounds, cars honking, people bustling on the sidewalk, everyone in a hurry... City life. It was quitting time already, and happy hour had begun.

  The restaurants were crowded, music blaring from bars, city lights twinkling, the sidewalks packed with residents and tourists.

  So different from Tumbleweed and the quiet countryside, the slower pace, the ranches and farm animals, the friendly faces.

  Except someone in Tumbleweed might have been hiding behind a friendly face for years. His sister’s kidnapper/killer could have been living in town laughing at him as sheriff because he hadn’t put together the pieces of the puzzle to unearth the truth.

  “It’s the neighborhood on Silver Spurs Drive,” Honey said. “Turn left at that next light and take it about five miles.”

  He made the turn, grateful to be leaving the heart of the city and driving into the less crowded neighborhoods that fanned out from Austin. He passed a new condo development complete with offices, businesses and restaurants then an apartment community and another business development.

  Three miles later Honey pointed to another turn. Although they were within ten miles of the city, it felt as if he was driving into the wilderness.

  “This is an older development,” Honey said. “Most of the houses are in disrepair, but I bought a couple to flip.”

  “How did you get into the business?”

  Honey’s face seem
ed to change as he entered the neighborhood. Her eyes looked brighter, hopeful, void of the pain and emptiness that haunted her in Tumbleweed.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” she said.

  “We’ve got time.”

  Honey squared her shoulders. “After I left Tumbleweed, I got a job as a waitress and rented a room from this lady. Her house was falling apart, so in my spare time, I helped fix it up. It took a couple of years, but the house came alive.”

  “Sounds like you found your calling,” Harrison said.

  Honey shrugged. “I enjoyed taking something that was in ruins and fixing it. The woman and her family liked the changes. When she died, her son, a general contractor, was so impressed with the improvements, that he offered me a job as his designer. I took some classes on the side and we’ve done okay.”

  “We’re working on that ranch right now,” she said as they bypassed two other houses that looked as if they needed her touch. Work crews were all over the yard and ranch house.

  He pulled in the driveway and parked, and Honey slid from the SUV. “I won’t be long, but if you have something else you need to do, I can get a ride and meet you.”

  His pulse jumped as a tall dark-haired guy in jeans and a work shirt loped out, a tool belt around his hips. The man swept Honey into a big bear hug.

  No wonder she’d put the brakes on the night before when he’d kissed her. She obviously had someone waiting on her here in Austin.

  * * *

  HONEY GAVE JARED a hug, grateful for his support and for picking up the slack in her absence.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, puzzled by the scowl on Harrison’s face. “I should have things tied up soon and be back.”

  Harrison’s jaw tightened, and she introduced him to Jared.

  “Jared is the contractor I told you about,” she said. “He’s been manning the crew while I was gone.” She motioned to the house. “Let me take a quick look around, then we’ll go.”

  “Are you going to give me the tour?” Harrison asked.

  If there was one thing Honey enjoyed, it was showing off her reno projects. “Sure.” She turned to Jared. “Anything I need to know about?”