Night of Shadows

by Marilyn Haddrill

  It had been a quiet trip to their destination. Mac was driving. At Melinda's insistence, Preston rode with him up front. She preferred the greater privacy of the backseat, where she could be alone with her thoughts. Then she looked up to notice Mac's searching, dark eyes peering at her from the rearview mirror.

  "You haven't said more than three sentences all morning," he observed. "You mad about something?"

  She knew he was referring to their argument over the ad layout, which in retrospect now seemed childish and stupid. On her part as much as his.

  "Not at all," Melinda said, as she thoughtfully twirled a strand of her hair. "I was just admiring the scenery. And thinking — about Connie and Debbie. What they might know."

  Preston broke in. "You're wasting your time trying to talk to those two. I told you they were the first people I contacted after Joan went missing."

  When Melinda said nothing in response, Mac spoke up. "Leave her be, Preston. The girls might confide something to Melinda they might not have wanted to tell you."

  "I seriously doubt that."

  Melinda was surprised at how surly Preston sounded today. And she was equally surprised that he more than Mac seemed most intent on convincing her that she could accomplish nothing here on Joan's behalf.

  She shot a sharp look at the back of her brother-in-law's head. Had it been Preston who sneaked into Mac's office to leave her the note telling her to go back home to Atlanta?

  The words had not sounded ominous. But they definitely had been written by someone who didn't want her around — and who at least pretended to have some knowledge about Joan's current whereabouts.

  So far, Melinda had chosen not to mention the note until she could figure out who was responsible for it.

  "Tell you what," Mac said. "I have a lot of business to take care of before tomorrow's races. So we'll have some lunch, then drop you off at our cabin. That will give you a chance to rest and make your arrangements with Joan's friends. Preston will check back later this afternoon and give you a ride, if you need to go anyplace. Maybe you'd like to do some shopping while you're here."

  "Thanks. I really would like that."

  Fifteen minutes later, Melinda found herself inside the McClure version of a mountain cabin. While constructed of the rustic wood she expected, theirs was an enormous, two-story dwelling that was both immaculate and elegantly furnished.

  The three of them had been met at the door by a pleasant, middle-aged woman who, with her husband, lived year-round in a small downstairs apartment. The woman's husband worked as an accountant for one of the village resorts. In return for the free accommodations, the couple served as caretakers for the place.

  The woman guided Melinda to one of the five upstairs guest bedrooms, where she immediately began to settle in. The McClure brothers stayed only long enough to drop off their luggage. Then they left to take care of last-minute preparations at the racetrack.

  Melinda unpacked her clothes from the travel bag Preston had loaned her, and vowed that it was time she visited some stores to replenish personal items she sorely missed — makeup, for instance.

  But first, she had to take care of more pressing business. Spying the telephone near her bed, she sat down and opened up the directory where she spotted her sister's name. Joannie had rented the apartment and paid the deposit on the utilities when she and her two friends had moved here. After Joan married and moved in with Preston, her roommates remained at the same location.

  Melinda wrote down the address and then dialed the number that was still listed under the name of Joan Bailey. She immediately recognized Debbie's voice.

  "Debbie? This is Melinda. Melinda Bailey. Joan's sister?"

  The silence on the other end of the line seemed to last for an inappropriately long time. Finally, when Debbie did speak again, her tone was guarded. After they exchanged a few pleasantries, Melinda practically had to insist that Connie and Debbie make time in their busy schedules to meet with her later that afternoon. After she hung up the phone, Melinda was simmering. Those two self-centered girls hadn't changed. Not a bit.

  Next, Melinda used her credit card to make a long-distance call to Perry at the newspaper. He was working on deadline, so had limited time. But he was solicitous and caring, even going so far as to ask her if she would like him to fly out and join her. She was tempted, but gently declined.

  "I appreciate it, but there's really nothing you could do here," Melinda said. "I'm even starting to feel pretty useless myself."

  Then she rang up Ruth in the research department at her firm. Ruth, excited to hear from her, put Melinda on hold so that she could leave the presence of the inquisitive eyes and ears of the main office and speak confidentially on an extension in the file room.

  "Paydirt, Melinda," Ruth said in a low voice. "It took a while, but I was able to track some public records related to the McClure Ranch. I found evidence that they were in arrears on some outstanding loans. Did you know they even filed for bankruptcy last year?"

  "You can't be serious," Melinda said, shocked.

  "Did your sister know anything about this?"

  "Apparently not. Or, at least, she never said anything to me. Then does this mean they might have to sell the ranch to get out of debt?"

  "No, and that's the strange part. In the last few weeks, they managed to pay off everything. From what I can tell, they satisfied all their creditors and the bankruptcy proceedings were dismissed."

  "How odd. Do you have any idea where they got the money?"

  "Sorry. No."

  Melinda was still pondering this latest news, when Ruth changed the subject.

  "By the way, where did you come up with this Roy Finch name you gave me?"

  "Oh. He's someone who owns a ranch adjoining the McClure place. He seems to have some connection with Preston. I've never met him — at least, not up close. But I don't think I like the man."

  "You have excellent judgement."

  Ruth then explained that her research had uncovered some old newspaper files regarding a master sergeant named Roy Finch, formerly attached with a U.S. special services force sent to Columbia on some covert operation. He had been discharged from the service — dishonorably, though nothing in the newspaper clips mentioned his specific sins. But his recent activities back in the states helped provide some clues.

  "You should see this guy's police record," Ruth said. "Name a crime. Any crime."

  "Uh — murder," Melinda said.

  "You got it. Bashed some guy's head in a few years ago in Houston. Let's see. He plea-bargained. Got a deferred sentence, no jail time. That's America for you." Ruth paused, as though examining more notes. "Finch has spent a few months in prison, though. He's been sent up on burglary charges, drug trafficking, fencing stolen property. That sort of thing. Oh, and listen to this. He's even been charged with operating an illegal gambling ring. 'Seems kind of minor, compared with some of this stuff..."

  Still holding the phone to her ear, Melinda leaned back on the bed and propped herself on some pillows. She gazed up at the roughly hewn, wooden vigas of the slant-roofed ceiling. She was feeling a little alarmed at the mention, once again, of gambling problems. This topic was bringing Joannie back into the picture in an uncomfortable way.

  "Preston was in the special forces," Melinda said. "I'm sure that's where he met up with Roy Finch."

  "You're probably right. But I didn't find anything on Preston. Or Michael."

  Melinda felt a silly surge of relief at the news that Mac, at least, did not appear to have some sinister, hidden past. She and Ruth discussed other information that had been uncovered, but nothing else seemed relevant. Ruth was openly disappointed when Melinda said she couldn't think of anything else she needed investigated.

  "Thanks, kiddo. You're a regular detective," Melinda said. "I appreciate everything."

  "No problem. But there's one more thing you should know." Ruth hesitated a moment. "Your boss. He's been antsy about you being gone, and he's starting to make so
me unflattering comments about your lack of loyalty. He's been depending a lot on Murchison the slimeball. Too much, if you get my drift."

  Office politics.

  Melinda sighed as she hung up the phone. It was why she always worked so hard, knowing that the sharks were always circling the water and waiting for her to slow down or slip up. At the first sign of weakness, her competitors would devour her. She knew if she stayed here much longer, she could say goodbye to her job and possibly her entire career.

  Melinda slowly sat up, feeling suddenly unreasonably angry with her sister. Maybe Joannie was involved in something shameful, and she was merely hiding out. Maybe Joan herself had arranged to get the note to Melinda, reassuring her sister that everything would be fine. Maybe Melinda really should step on a plane and go back to Atlanta, just as the writer of the note had suggested.

  And maybe Melinda was just guilty of wishful thinking.

  By the time Preston arrived back at the cabin, Melinda was through torturing herself with second thoughts. She needed a diversion and was more than ready to take some extra time for a little shopping.

  Her brother-in-law fortunately seemed in a better mood now, and cheerfully took her to the downtown area where he guided the SUV into a rare parking spot on the busy main street.

  Preston settled at a shaded table and occupied himself with some coffee and a newspaper at an outdoor pavilion. This gave Melinda a chance to look around in some of the shops.

  She selected a few items of clothing to add to her limited wardrobe, and couldn't resist the purchase of a turquoise-lined watch to replace one she had lost in the flood. Then, she took some extra time for a visit to the beauty salon, where a facial and professional hairdo erased the last vestiges of her misadventure with the flood.

  By the time she rejoined Preston, Melinda felt more like the chic career woman who had left Atlanta days ago. Her confidence soared when she saw her brother-in-law's approving smile.

  "You look fantastic," Preston said as he stood to greet her. "Wait til Mac sees you."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Oh, come on. You know what I'm talking about. I haven't seen my big brother act this goofy over a woman since he tangled with that feisty Anna Carrasco in the ninth grade."

  They began walking toward the car.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Melinda answered. "I haven't noticed any — odd — sort of behavior from Mac toward me. Except for an occasional spell of bad manners."

  Preston just laughed. "Don't let it bother you. That's just his last defense. If you ask me, I'd say he's finally met his match."

  Melinda dared say nothing else as Preston held open the vehicle door for her and she slid in. Minutes later, they pulled up to a large apartment complex not too far away from the McClure cabin.

  "They live in number thirty-three — right there near the patio," Preston said doubtfully. "I still think this is a waste of time, but good luck anyway. I'll be back for you in about an hour."

  It was Connie, not Debbie, who greeted Melinda at the door. Her large green eyes were made more brilliant by her deep olive complexion.

  "Hello, Melinda," she said cheerfully.

  Connie stepped aside in an unspoken invitation for Melinda to enter. When she walked inside, Melinda immediately saw Debbie lying outstretched on the sofa.

  Connie laughed. "Don't pay any attention to her. She had a big date last night, and hasn't been able to get any sleep today."

  Melinda took the chair opposite Debbie and searched her memory. The last she had heard, before Joan's marriage, the three had worked together as cocktail waitresses at one of the resort hotels.

  Debbie was immodestly draped in a clinging, silk robe. Melinda noticed by the bottle of red polish on the coffee table that Debbie's suffering had not prevented her from finding time to do her long, slender nails. Her hair was piled thickly in curls around her face, and her blue eyes were heavily accented with mascara.

  Connie was dressed casually in jeans and a tight fitting T‑shirt. Her long, dark hair hung in a glistening sheen around her shoulders. Connie straddled the footstool by Melinda's chair and grew silent, apparently waiting for an opening to the discussion. Finally, she broke an awkward silence.

  "This whole thing about Joan is awful. Just awful."

  Melinda fought back an unexpected rush of tears, and struggled to keep a professional tone. "I think it would be helpful if you could tell me about anything significant that might have happened from the time you three left Georgia up to now."

  Debbie opened her eyes and reached over to a nearby table to retrieve an icepack. She gave Melinda an open look of disgust as she placed it on her head.

  Connie looked embarrassed at her roommate's sour behavior, and awkwardly tried to explain. "We've been through this so many times already with Preston. And with the police, too. You wouldn't believe how many times. But — well — okay. We'll try this again."

  Connie was amiable as she started talking, beginning with the story of their cross‑country trip. Melinda hung onto every word — interrupting at times to ask questions about Joannie. Connie mentioned some of Joan's boyfriends along the way, none of whom ever lasted more than a few weeks. The girls had made a pact not to get seriously involved in any romantic encounters. They didn't want to be tied down. They had traveling to do, things to see, adventures to be shared.

  Connie then described their arrival in Ruidoso. The girls instantly loved the mountain resort. They found life here to be less pressured than in a big city, yet offering the glamour and excitement that accompanied peak tourist seasons.

  "Joan was making plans to work her way through college — starting with the branch here — just before she met Preston," Connie said.

  Melinda sat up straighter. That was something she hadn't known.

  Connie smiled slightly. "She wanted to please you, you know. More than you can imagine. She knew how disappointed you were in her. Besides that, though, I think she'd had enough. You can only live like this so long."

  Connie sounded distinctly unhappy as she glanced over at Debbie. "That's all we do now. Party all the time. Get drunk. Feel crappy the next day. It gets old after a while."

  At Melinda's prompting, Connie was steered back into reminiscing about the adventures shared by the three friends. Melinda laughed as Connie recounted Joan's disastrous experiment with a first — and last — skiing lesson. When the conversation finally lapsed, Melinda brought up the question she knew that Preston and the girls could not have discussed together.

  "Could you tell me more about Joan's life with Preston? Did they really get along? Was she happy?"

  Connie hesitated, then nodded towards Debbie. "You should ask her that question. Debbie is a lot more familiar with the McClures than I am — through Mac."

  Unexplainably, Melinda felt a pang of jealousy as a knowing smile crept across Debbie's face. Her icy eyes fixated on Melinda, who was shocked at the hostility in her voice.

  "I haven't seen Mac since you got there."

  "Debbie, that's stupid," Connie broke in. "Mac broke it off with you long before Melinda ever showed up."

  "Please," Melinda said soothingly. "Let's all be civil here. My concern isn't with Mac or either one of you. I'm trying to find out what happened to my sister. Joannie could be in danger. You realize that, don't you?"

  Looking almost ashamed of herself, Debbie reached back and carefully placed the icepack on the sofa table behind her. Then, she swung her body up to a sitting position, wincing as she did so.

  "You're worse than Mac," she said. "Questions, questions, questions — always with the questions about Joan. And Preston."

  "Oh? I didn't know Mac was that involved in looking for Joan."

  "These questions started long before Joannie ever disappeared."

  Debbie put both hands up to her temples and began to massage them. Her loud sigh announced that she felt greatly inconvenienced.

  "Okay, okay," she said finally. "I can tell you that Joan and Preston got along okay mos
t of the time."

  "That takes care of most of the time." Melinda gave Debbie a stern look. "What about other times?"

  Debbie peered at Melinda through bleary red eyes that seemed to have trouble focusing. "Well, there was Sammy. That bugged Preston. A lot."

  "Sammy came before Preston," Connie hastily explained. "Actually, Joan met Sammy at a country-Western bar. And then she met Preston when Sammy invited her out to tour the McClure ranch one day."

  Melinda felt her stomach knot. And now Sammy was dead. That seemed a little too much of a coincidence.

  "So did Sammy view Preston as the boss who stole his girl?" she asked.

  Debbie and Connie looked at each other, their expressions blank.

  "I guess it was kind of like that at first," Debbie admitted. "I know Preston didn't like having Joan's old boyfriend around. He didn't like seeing them together. But what Preston and Joan argued about most of the time was money. Preston was always broke. Can you believe that? Here's this guy that's supposed to be super rich, and he never seemed to have anything to show for it. Joannie did get awfully upset about that."

  Melinda sat back in her chair, and looked over at Connie. Connie, sensing Melinda's need for confirmation, nodded in agreement. This was certainly a different twist to what Melinda had been told about Joan so far. It was tempting to leave it at that. But she had to learn the truth — the whole truth.

  "Did Joan do a lot of betting on the horses?" Melinda asked.

  Connie and Debbie exchanged knowing glances.

  Debbie shrugged. "Yeah, she did. Someone must have told you about that. Joan went kind of crazy at the track. I never could figure it out."

  "I know why," Connie piped up. "I mean, I think I do. It's like this, see. When we first got here — before Joan met Preston, I mean — life was pretty good at first. She had lots of dates and things to do. But like I said before, she was starting to get bored with it all. That's why she decided to go back to school. Then she met Preston and all those plans changed. Don't get me wrong. I think she really loved him — loves him."