“My parents made the arrangements.”
“But they’re dead now.”
Yes. He’d done his homework. Her parents had both died prematurely, her father from a heart attack, and her mother from a bad fall down the basement stairs. And she was glad of it. She had never stopped blaming them. The legacy, it seemed, was to be continued.
She set the rifle on the kitchen table. “Fine. If you need someone to blame, then let it be me.”
The man, the stranger, her son, stared back at her.
What was he looking for from her, if not guilt? “Would it make you feel better to beat me, the way they used to beat you?”
She stood before him, an easy target, but he remained motionless.
She turned her gaze to the gun. “Or maybe you’d rather shoot me.”
The terror she expected to feel, was absent. This was the price you paid when you locked away some of your emotions. Eventually it became harder and harder to feel anything at all.
She watched his face, saw him study the gun as if considering her suggestion. But then he swallowed and shook his head.
“When I was a boy I used to dream you would come and save me.”
Shirley blocked out the image his words painted. No one had saved her, either. “You survived without me.”
“Only because I was waiting for this day. I’m going to make you pay.” He put his hand on the gun. “But not with this.”
He left then, and Shirley was relieved. It wasn’t until a few days later that she noticed one of her red scarves—it had been draped over the back of the sofa, along with the cardigan she’d worn to work that day—was missing. At the time it didn’t seem a matter of much consequence.
chapter eight
Wade parked his SUV across the street from the high school, alongside an overgrown hedge but with a clear view of the football field. A practice was in session and Coach Brad Scott stood out as not only the oldest man present, but also the largest. The impressive bulk Scott had sported during his years as defensive end with the Broncos had gone to fat, and even distributed over his six-foot plus frame he looked obese.
It didn’t seem that long ago that Wade and his friends had been playing football on this same field. Wade counted back. Sixteen years. Hell, that number made him feel old.
In Wade’s memory, practices back then had been tests of will, skill and physical stamina. But the guys on the field today seemed to be making a lack luster effort, while Coach Scott was spending more time watching his phone than his players.
Shortly before half-past five, Scott waved the guys off the field. Wade got out of his vehicle and made his way slowly across the street. He paused before approaching Scott, just in case he had last minute questions to answer, but it seemed the team couldn’t get off the field fast enough.
“So they can run, after all.”
From Scott’s startled expression, he obviously hadn’t noticed Wade before now. The coach glanced from him, to the departing players.
“The season isn’t shaping up to be one of our best.” He tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. “Can I help you Sheriff?”
Up close, Coach Scott was looking rough. His eyes were bloodshot and his grey-speckled goatee was on its way to becoming a full-on beard.
“I hope so. You may have heard a local boy, nine-year-old Chester Quinpool has gone missing.” Wade pulled out a photo.
Scott gave it a brief glance. “Yeah. That’s tough. Hope you find him soon.”
The words were right, but the man displayed no real emotion. Wade would have expected more from a man who coached young men and even had two sons himself.
“It’s been more than twenty-four hours, so we’re pretty concerned. Have you seen Chester recently?”
“Why would I?” With a spiritless shuffle, reminiscent of the young men he was supposedly training, Scott made his way to the bleachers lining the west side of the field.
Wade followed. “Well, the kid is a huge football fan.”
“I haven’t noticed him hanging out at any of our practices, if that’s what you mean.”
“Have you seen him anywhere else? Maybe around the grade school?”
“No. Like I said, why would I? I’m a high school coach, not a grade school babysitter.” Scott picked up a clipboard that had been resting on the lower rung of the bleachers.
“Maybe so. But we have a witness who says you stopped Chester on his way home from school a few days ago. Monday afternoon, shortly after three-thirty. This witness says you were asking Chester if he had plans to play football when he was older.”
Scott let out a sound more like a bark than a laugh. “My boys might be pussies this year. But I haven’t stooped to recruiting nine-year-olds.”
“So you deny talking to him?”
Suddenly Scott went still. He turned slowly until his gaze was locked with Wade’s. “I’ve never spoken to Kyle Quinpool’s boy in my life. Except, maybe a time or two in boy scouts, but that was last year.”
“So you know who he is?”
“Of course I do. It’s a small town. Kyle sold my wife and me our first home. Daisy and my Sharleen used to be friends. She was something that Daisy, huh? Sharleen had the body, but Daisy had the face of an angel.”
Wade studied his eyes. This man was talking too much. He sounded nervous, like he was hiding something.
“How old are your sons?”
“Jason’s eight. Brock’s eleven.”
“Where are they right now?”
“Home with their mother, far as I know.”
Wade remembered Sharleen well. They’d been in the same class at school. As she’d matured Sharleen had spent more time hanging out with older kids, including Brad Scott, and also, Wade remembered suddenly, Daisy Hammond.
He wondered how she had taken the recent news of Daisy’s death and illegal burial.
“Okay. Well I guess I’ll head to your home next and see if Sharleen has anything to add.”
“Go ahead and talk to her.” There was a bitter tinge to Scott’s words now. “I’m sure she’d love to get in her two cents.”
Since there was no vehicle nearby and Scott seemed about to start walking, Wade offered him a lift. “We’re headed the same way.”
“Actually, we’re not. Sharleen and I split up this summer.”
Scott lowered his head, but not before Wade saw the gleam of sudden tears.
Was this why the coach seemed so out of sorts?
“She kicked me out in August. We still share one vehicle, and since she had to take our eldest for a doctor’s appointment today, she got it. That’s why I’m on foot,” he added, unnecessarily.
“Sorry to hear that, Brad.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the man she married, right? Once I was a super athlete, pulling in six figures. Now I’m just an over-weight high school coach who drinks too much. Never mind that she was the one who wanted to move back to Twisted after my pro career ended. I could have taught college, at least.”
Wade put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. They were about the same height, but Scott had at least sixty pounds on him. “Let me give you a lift home, at least.”
The coach shrugged. “I guess.”
The address Wade was given was only six blocks away, long enough for Scott to let him know Sharleen thought he was too hard on their boys.
“A man needs to teach his kids how to throw a football right? According to Sharleen, my corrections were hurtful to their self-esteem. Can you imagine that? How the hell do you teach a boy to throw a god damned spiral if you’re only allowed to tell him what a good job he’s doing?”
Wade didn’t answer. He was thinking of the times he and his father had tossed a football around in their back yard. His dad hadn’t been much of a talker. He’d shown Wade what to do, and Wade had done his best to imitate. Eventually he’d gotten it right.
At some point Wade hoped to do the same with his own kids.
Of course, he’d have to find a wife, first.
“Here we are.” He parked outside of the weather beaten clapboard house, taking note of the side entrance to the basement suite.
“Thanks for the lift, Sheriff. Hope you find the Quinpool boy. That family sure has had its share of hard times.”
“That it has.” Wade got out of the driver’s seat, following Brad Scott as he made his way toward his humble new home.
Scott paused once they reached the property line. “Well. See you around.”
Wade stood his ground. “I’ll see you to the door if you don’t mind.”
“What the hell? You want to check out my place? You actually think I’ve got the kid—that I’m some sort of pervert?”
“No, Scott, of course not. I figured since I’m here I might as well check the back yard. A small boy like Chester could be hiding anywhere. If it was your kid,” he concluded, “you’d want me to cover all the bases, wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose.” Scott sounded somewhat mollified, as he dug out his keys.
Wade made a show of examining the yard and peering over fences into the adjacent properties. When Scott opened his door, he was able to get a good look over the man’s shoulder.
There was no sign of anything amiss, unless you counted the presence of a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the kitchen table.
“I’m a fan of Jim Beam myself,” he commented, untruthfully.
“Is that a hint? I thought law men weren’t supposed to drink on the job.”
“I’ve been working overtime for about twelve hours now. I guess I’m entitled.”
“Sounds fair to me.” Scott headed inside, obviously expecting Wade to follow, which he did.
While Scott pulled two glasses from the cupboard, Wade had a good look around. The bachelor apartment was a big open space with a bed in one corner, a sofa and TV in the other, and the kitchen tucked up close by the door.
There were two doors off the kitchen, both of them open. One led to a bathroom, the other to a dark space with no windows.
Once he had his bourbon in hand, Wade moved closer to the second door. Inside was a hot water heater and electrical panel. If Scott had abducted Chester, he sure as hell wasn’t hiding him here. Of course Scott could have Chester hidden someplace out of town. But having to share a vehicle with his estranged wife would make that problematic.
“Nice place. It’s small, but you’ve got everything you need.”
“You’re being polite, Sheriff. It’s a shit-hole.”
Wade made quick work of the bourbon, then claimed he needed to get back to work, which he did. On the way to his vehicle, he noticed a pink house across the street. The very house that Cory had mentioned when she described the meeting between her brother and the coach.
A woman in her seventies answered the door when he knocked. She was small-boned and frail-looking, and her voice, when she spoke, was very soft.
“Hello Sheriff. Are you here to ask about the missing boy again?”
“Yes.” He introduced himself and took note of her name. “I take it one of my people has already questioned you?”
“Oh yes. Two of them, in fact. But I’m afraid I wasn’t able to help. I wasn’t out in my garden at all on Wednesday, so I didn’t see the children that day. Sometimes I do, you see. But not on Wednesday.”
“What about on Monday? Did you happen to notice Chester talking to a man?”
“Not Monday no. But I was cutting back my roses on Tuesday, and I did see the children then. No man. No adults, at all, just the usual pack of Thompson children as well as the Quinpool twins.”
“They always walk home together?”
“Usually. But on that day Chester was running ahead of the rest...” She paused thoughtfully. “I’m afraid a couple of the Thompson boys were teasing him about his father. That is, I did hear the term ‘jail bird.’ Not very nice, if you ask me.”
“No. Not nice at all. Thank you Mrs. Stockman, I appreciate your help.”
* * *
A delicious aroma, Wade’s first guess was beef chili, wafted from the open windows of Coach Scott’s family’s home, along with the sounds of someone cooking, and a TV playing in the background.
Sharleen opened the door almost immediately after he knocked. “Sheriff MacKay. I saw your vehicle pull up in front of our house. Is everything okay?”
Sharleen was wearing calf-length leggings, a red sports bra, and a sleeveless white top scooped low at the front. In high school she had possessed the sort of body that made men—even those who knew better—stop and stare. Unlike her husband, who had packed on the pounds in the intervening years, Sharleen seemed to have worked hers off. Now she had the slender, muscular build of a woman who worked out religiously.
“Just making a routine call. We’re canvasing the area to see if anyone has seen Chester Quinpool in the past two days.” Wade pulled out the photo, but Sharleen waved it away.
“You don’t need to show me that. I know Chester very well. He and Jason were in Boy Scouts together last year. Jason hated Boy Scouts. Only went because his father made him.”
She paused as the sound of an argument erupted from a nearby room. “You boys be quiet. We’ve got the sheriff visiting.”
Immediately the ruckus ended.
Wade focused back on Sharleen. “I take it you haven’t seen him?”
“No. I was out searching this afternoon with a bunch of the other parents while my boys were in school. I take it there’s been no news since then?”
“Afraid not.”
“That’s so sad. I can’t believe the trouble that poor family has had. I’m still not over the shock of finding out his mother is dead. I mean, I guess I knew it was a possibility, maybe even a probability. But until you find out for sure, you can’t help but hope.”
“You and Daisy were good friends in high school, weren’t you?”
“When we were younger. By high school, I was hanging out with an older crowd.” She paused, sighed. “Dating Brad Scott wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did. But hey, I was young and stupid.”
“I was just talking to Brad and he told me the two of you are separated. He seems pretty upset about it.”
“Sure he’s upset. He had it good here. I cooked, cleaned and looked after his kids so he could watch football and drink beer all weekend.”
She made no effort to hide the bitterness in her voice, and Wade wondered if Scott was guilty of more than just watching football and drinking beer.
“As far as you know, did Brad ever have anything to do with Chester? Maybe back when the boys were in Boy Scouts together?”
Sharleen pulled back. “Brad and Chester? What are you implying, Sheriff?”
“These are just routine questions.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Brad may not be father or husband-of-the-year material. But he’s no kidnapper.”
“I never—”
“I think you’d better go Sheriff. I’ve got to get dinner on the table for my boys.”
chapter nine
“Sean says this is on the house.” Mia O’Brian placed two heaped plates containing the Linger Burger and Twisted Fries special on the table in front of Wade.
“Thanks Mia. Hopefully I don’t have to eat all this myself.” Fifteen minutes ago Wade had left a message for Dougal to meet him at the local pub. He thought it would do his old friend good to get out of the office, take a bit of a breather.
Truth be told, he needed the break, too.
“If he doesn’t show, best leave the second plate uneaten,” Mia advised. “We want you fed, but too much food will slow you down.”
Wade nodded. Mia and Sean, who owned and operated the local pub, had four children under the age of six. What had happened to Chester was every parent’s worst nightmare. Not only would the O’Brians be fearing for the missing boy, but they’d be wondering if their own children were safe.
Which killed him. The safety of all the citizens of Curry County was Wade’s top priority, but the children were in a special category of t
heir own. Having one missing—and no clue who had him or why—was Wade’s version of hell.
“Point taken, Mia. I’ll be back to work shortly.”
“I didn’t mean that as a criticism, Wade. We’ve seen how hard you and your team are working. You should know that almost everyone I’ve spoken with today has taken part in the search effort, as much as they’re able. The whole town is behind you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“And it looks like you won’t have to eat alone, after all.” She nodded toward the door. Dougal had just stepped inside and was already heading this way. “I take it he’s your dinner companion?”
“Yeah.”
“Once you’ve found Chester and brought him home safe and sound, I suggest you move on to someone a little cuter, Sheriff.”
“Very funny, Mia.” These days it seemed almost everyone considered his love life—or lack thereof—fair game. Wade was not amused.
He stood to shake Dougal’s hand, then waved him to the chair. “I ordered for you. Hope that’s okay.”
Mia had moved on to another table, and Dougal sank into the empty chair, staring at the food like it was the best thing he’d seen all day. “Awesome.”
He took a big bite of the burger and washed it down with half a glass of water. “This has been one hell of a day. And I mean that literally.”
“Did you manage to write another chapter of the book?”
Dougal nodded, waiting until he’d swallowed to add, “Just sent it off to Librarian Momma before I left to come here. Your timing was perfect. I can’t remember the last time I felt so brain dead.”
“Likewise.” A minute ago, Wade had been starving. Mia’s well intentioned reminder of how much the community was counting on him to find Chester, and apprehend the person responsible for his disappearance, had stolen his appetite.
Wade had never been one to take his responsibilities lightly.
“Do you really think Ed has Chester? Isn’t it more likely he’s taking advantage of the boy’s disappearance to get you to write his story?”
exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) Page 7
