by C. K. Raggio
All of the careful questions he asked Peggy about Izzy had been answered with no hesitation from her. Or so he thought. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d been wrong to underestimate her. Kind of like the little dog under his desk.
Peggy questioned Gary about him. Even asked if at some point he owned a blue van. The woman had an amazing memory, he’d give her that. When Timmy first moved to Long Island, he drove a blue van around for a month before he bought his pickup. Still, if she went to the police with her thoughts, they’d look into him more than he was prepared for.
Timmy couldn’t have that, so he needed to dispose of her. He would’ve done it himself, but he was occupied with Isabella. He had no choice but to rely on Gary. At least the idiot did something right before he screwed up and panicked when Cassandra and Mr. Agent stopped by the center.
It had all been worth it though. Isabella was worm meal. The cops devastated, or so they seemed at her funeral. Cassandra cried through the whole thing, even hugged him tight to her when he paid his condolences. He had to keep his pelvis thrust away from her, so she wouldn’t feel his erection.
The smell of lavender on her skin was usually enough to get a reaction from him, but her touch… His body quivered from the thought. How classic. Nobody had an inkling that it’d been him who killed their precious Isabella.
The way her naked skin shimmered with blood in the moonlight was an image he’d never forget. There were a lot of things about that night he’d keep close.
He stopped rubbing the canine Peggy’s head and a hesitant paw touched his calf.
“You know, you supposedly bit two kids.” He gave her a quick scratch behind her ears. “I’d bet my left nut… no, both, that those kids deserved it.” He crouched down, picked her up, and brought her back to her crate.
After he locked her in, he moved back to the wall and removed a catchpole from its peg. “Leviathan. It’s your turn, boy.”
Leviathan immediately dropped his half eaten bone.
Timmy opened the cage of the lab mix. The dog growled, teeth bared, fur standing at attention along his spine. Timmy smiled and slipped the noose around the dog’s neck. “That’s the spirit,” he murmured as he dragged the animal from the cage toward the pit. “Let’s see how long you can keep it.”
CHAPTER 27
Cassie and Rick drove to the edge of Bayhead, New York in a little over four hours. Rick stared out the window. A welcome to Bayhead sign stood amongst a line of old rusted cars still coated with melting snow from the last storm.
There weren’t any traffic lights or signs at the intersection. A motel with ancient vinyl siding that had blown off in a couple places sat next to a gas station with one pump. A shack across the street had a neon sign in the window boasting a burger and a beer for five dollars.
Rick frowned. “Looks like a happening place.”
“Yeah, hope that’s not their idea of fine dining or we’re going to starve.”
Within seconds, the town was behind them. Horses and cattle grazed in the fields they passed. Rolling hills led to snow peaked mountains in the distance.
“We thought we had it bad.” Cassie slid her hand from the wheel and cranked up the heat. “It’s freezing here.”
Rick glanced down at the directions Cassie had printed, then at the map they’d bought a few towns back. He wished they’d taken his car. At least it had GPS. He watched Cassie shiver. “Aren’t you supposed to be a tough bayman’s daughter? Stop being a pansy.”
She grinned.
He should have taken Phil with him on this trip like he’d originally planned. Get the guy away for a day or two. But on a whim he’d asked Cassie, and it wasn’t just because she was the better detective.
They hadn’t talked about their kiss and he’d been kicking himself since for not following her lead. Her lips had been so soft, her needs obvious. He had to get another opportunity to feel her body pressed against his.
She rolled to a stop and let a few kids armed with hockey sticks and skates cross the street. She smiled, waiting until they’d almost made it to the frozen pond before accelerating.
He wondered what she was thinking about.
Phil had mentioned he was good friends with that guy Sam who was always at her house. How Sam had been on the fast track to playing professional hockey before he got hurt. It was obvious the guy was in love with her. Phil made that quite clear.
Did she think about Sam that way too? Anxiety riddled him. If he was going to make a move he should do it soon, before Sam finally got the balls to make one himself.
“Aren’t I supposed to be turning soon?” Cassie asked.
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Rick glanced down at the directions. “Make a left up here.”
The clock glowed on the dash. “The sheriff should be at Gary’s old house by now.” He pointed out the road to her. “Right here.”
She turned the wheel then brought out a tube of chap stick. It rolled across her lips, making them shimmer. The smell of cherries filled the car.
Rick shifted in his seat. He definitely had to get out of this car.
~~~
Christmas tree farms lined each side of the lane, the young branches blanketed in frost. Cassie swerved around a pothole deep enough for a bear to hibernate in. She held back a chuckle as Rick’s head hit the door.
He rubbed the spot and scowled. When he caught her eye, he put on a smile. “Now a right, then another left about a mile down.” He shifted in his seat and turned his body away from hers. “Not many people around here, huh?” He jiggled his leg.
What was up with all his fidgeting? If he needed to use the bathroom there were plenty of trees to pick from. He sure didn’t seem like the shy type. “No, not many at all. From what I read there’s only about thirteen people per square mile. The only tourists who come around here are hunters.”
“How big is a square mile?”
“Six hundred and forty acres. That equals up to a whole lot of privacy. You really think our guy may be from Bayhead like Gary is?”
He grinned and stretched his arms over his head, pulling his shirt taught against his chest. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
She forced her eyes back on the road. Talk about the perfect male specimen. It made her light-headed thinking about running her hands along the muscular contours of his chest.
Would he turn her down again if she tried? That kiss wasn’t good timing, but maybe he used that as an excuse and he wasn’t interested. But the way she caught him looking at her sometimes told a whole different story.
She scrunched up her nose. The guy could have a girlfriend, or a wife for all she knew. She should just ask him and get it over with. Then if he was single she could let him on to the fact that she wanted to have rough, uncomplicated sex with him.
“This is it. Number twenty-nine.” He pointed to a driveway overgrown with weeds and brush.
A man in a blue sheriff’s uniform came from around the side of the abandoned estate, wiping his hands on his pants leg.
They stepped out of the car.
“I’m Sheriff Ferraro.” He held out a small pudgy hand and winked up at Cassie. The top of his head barely reached her chin. His face turned pink. She hesitated before shaking it, wondering if he’d just taken a leak and wiped the remnants on his thigh.
“I’m Detective Cassandra Logan and this is Agent Rick Sanders, FBI.”
“Whoa, FBI, huh?” Ferraro whistled and turned back to Cassie, eyeing her up from boots to chest.
His gaze made her feel like she should be swinging around a stripper pole.
“Ahem.” Rick stepped forward and glared at him. “Thanks for taking the time to see us on such short notice.”
Ferraro’s eyes didn’t leave Cassie. “Not a problem at all.” He gestured over his shoulder. “This place has been abandoned for over ten years. I put the boards up myself two summers ago. Had some problems with kids hanging out, causing trouble. Not like that stops ‘em though. I already pried off the planks on the
front door if you wanna go in and check things out.”
Cassie slipped on thick winter gloves as they all walked to the house. “You ever look around inside?” she asked, stepping over the rotting spots on the porch.
“Just to make sure nothing was amuck. Place is empty, sides a few pieces of rat infested furniture and trash. Though, the one upstairs bedroom has a few water-logged pictures of the folks who used to live here.”
“Really? Can we see them?” Cassie smiled at him and his face lit up.
“Yup, follow me.”
They walked through the house with flashlights, going over and around bags of garbage like it was an obstacle course. Ferraro was right, nothing of interest besides scurrying creatures, their feces, and ten years worth of dust and dirt. The house smelled of mildew and a hint of ash.
“Ladies first.” Ferraro swept his hand toward the stairs. “They’re not too stable. I’ll stay behind you in case you slip.”
Cassie snickered. Very smooth. Rick rolled his eyes. Maybe he was more interested than she thought. She swayed her hips up the two flights of steps to test her theory. Izzy must’ve rubbed off on her over the years. Or maybe in a way she was trying to keep her close.
She glanced over her shoulder. “This way?” Two sets of eyes shot up to meet hers. Men were so predictable.
“U-uh, yup,” Ferraro said, adjusting his pants.
She held back a laugh, maybe she used too much hip action.
“And then to your left. It’s the first bedroom.”
She fluttered her lashes at him, feigning innocence, having fun with it. No use stopping now. She hit the top step and froze. The stench of urine, mold and smoke made her cover her nose. Definitely not a good combination.
She threw a glance at Rick. His eyes watered and he paused a second before moving ahead.
The charred remains of a dresser sat front and center in the small bedroom. The smell of smoke grew stronger where the fire must’ve started. It looked like someone traced the flames in black soot on the yellowed walls.
“Group of kids decided to have a cookout in here a few weeks back,” Ferraro said. “That’s when I noticed the pictures. They probably got a little wet from the fire hose.” On his tiptoes he rummaged around the closet’s top shelf. “Here they are.”
Rick held the pictures up. Cassie pushed up against him and looked over his shoulder. His body tensed and she felt her cheeks pinking. Nothing like teasing a guy and then pushing your boobs into his back. She took a half step back and he relaxed.
The first picture’s colors all ran together, mixed with green mold. She could just make out the blurred image of man, woman and child.
She squinted at the man. “Is that Gary?”
Rick moved the beam of his flashlight closer to the photo. “I think so, a much younger Gary. Maybe the baby is Dave and the woman his mom?” He flipped to the second picture.
It only had a few watermarks and dog-eared corners. Two young boys, both with sandy hair, stood in front of an old Ford truck with a deer strapped to the roof. One boy looked to be a few years older than the other. They had an arm around each other’s shoulders and held up a dead rabbit in their dirty fists.
“That any help?” Ferraro asked.
“It may be,” Rick said. “Can we keep these?”
“Of course, please.” He waved at them. “Anything else you want to see in here?”
“No, but you told Rick on the phone you became Sheriff three years ago?” Cassie asked.
“Yup, after Sheriff Mason retired.” Ferraro took a step closer and she could smell tuna fish on his breath over the rancid smell already stuck in her nasal cavity. “He’d been at the job over thirty years, said it was time.”
Cassie stepped back and raised a brow. “Mason? Dave White mentioned that name as someone to check out while we were here. Was he friends with the Whites?”
“Not sure. But I’d think Mason would be able to answer more of your questions about the Whites. He only lives at the next farm down. ‘Bout, oh, a mile or so on the left.”
Rick shook his hand. “Thanks again for your time.”
“My pleasure. I’ll call Mason and let him know you’re on the way.”
They stepped out of the house. The sheriff tipped his hat at Cassie before he sauntered away. She inhaled the fresh air like someone who’d been trapped in a miners’ cave for their entire life. She scrunched up her nose after a couple more deep breaths, lifted her hand and sniffed her sleeve. “Yuck. I’m going to have to burn these clothes. No amount of washing will take that stink out.”
“Really?” Rick said with a toothy grin. “I don’t think you smell much different than you normally do.”
“What is it with men telling me I smell?”
“Huh?”
“Forget it.” She huffed. “So do you find it interesting that Gary White’s family may have been friends with the local sheriff back in the day?”
“Yes, I do. And do you know what else I find interesting? The fact that every time you smiled at Ferraro he looked like he was about to burst at the seams.”
Cassie waved him off. “How do you know it was me he was gaga over? Maybe he had a crush on you.” She stuck a gloved finger into his chest.
“You make a valid point.” He climbed in the passenger seat. “Being an FBI agent usually gets people fired up. I never have to work too hard to get a date anyway.”
Well, that pretty much answered her question on him being single. Thinking back to when she first met him she wasn’t sure why she even considered he could have a girlfriend. The man was full of himself, probably incapable of love. Not like that was what she was looking for either.
He nudged her with his elbow, a teasing smile plastered across his face. “Stop daydreaming about Ferraro and let’s get to Mason’s. We might have a huge lead here.”
CHAPTER 28
A mix of dirt and gravel made up the long driveway to Kurt Mason’s, but it was well maintained compared to the rest of the town’s roads. Cassie studied the tall man tossing hay to a dozen or so cattle in the pasture.
If that was Kurt Mason he was the complete opposite of the new sheriff they’d just left at the White’s house. This man was tall, well over six feet even with his mid-seventy’s hunch. The flannel work shirt, jeans and high rubber boots did nothing to hide his solid girth and broad shoulders.
He gave them the law enforcement once over then leaned his pitchfork against a blue livestock trailer.
Cassie parked and shut off the engine. “Looks like this is our guy.”
“Definitely,” Rick said, stepping out of the Jeep. “Why don’t you take the lead with Mr. Mason. It seems these northern boys take a quick liking to you.”
Cassie wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, trying to get out of questioning an ex-cop or if he truly believed because one guy in the town was a horn dog that meant every man was. But they had already closed the distance to the older man, no time to argue about it now.
“Mr. Mason?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun.
He grunted, tipped his red cap further down. His jowls sagged giving him the appearance of a permanent frown.
“We’re sorry to bother you. I’m – ”
“I know who you are,” he interrupted. He hung his head for a moment, his voice softening. “Ferraro called and told me you were coming. He said you were looking for information on Gary White. Detective Logan and Agent Sanders, right?” He held out a calloused hand. “Always thought one day Gary would get into trouble. I was hoping since his buddy was the ring leader it would’ve ended with him.”
Cassie didn’t know what to think about the man. He didn’t seem happy to see them. “What buddy? What do you mean ended with him?”
Mason brushed hay from his pants. “His best friend since they were kids was named Steven Bailey. But to be honest, I’m not sure if he’s dead or alive.”
Excitement rumbled in Cassie’s chest. This could be it. The person they were looking for. “
We were told you and the Whites might’ve been friendly. Is that true?”
“That’s right. Gary’s father and I were friends from grade school.”
This could be really big. Cassie cocked her hip. “Does Gary have any other relatives? Any other childhood friends that you know about?”
“No. Just Steven.” Mason’s spine stiffened, his eye twitched.
Was he hiding something from them already?
The man blew out a short breath. “Why don’t we go inside, eh? It’s chilly out here. I have a feeling this is going to take a while and I’m not sure my old legs would take to standing that long.”
“Sounds good, sir.” Rick said. He gave her a sidelong glance and pulled the tip of the pictures they’d found from his pocket.
They followed Mason as he made his way up the porch steps. “We also have a few photos we’d love for you to take a look at,” Cassie added.
Mason hesitated mid-stride then grabbed the doorknob. His hand shook. Cassie glanced at Rick, who frowned. He’d seen it too. Mason knew something, or he was afraid of something.
She squinted as they entered the big red farmhouse. Shades blacked out every window, casting the foyer in darkness. Mason sat on an ornate wooden bench, shedding his work boots. Cassie peered into the room on her right. Antlers twisted around a half dozen light bulbs forming a chandelier, which hung from the ceiling. Dim light reflected off dozens of glassy eyes.
Stuffed deer, rabbits, coyotes and game birds occupied the walls and floor. A beautiful antique roll-top cherry desk sat in the middle of the room. Half a dozen bookcases, littered with novels stood behind it.
She thought of the picture they’d found. The deer strapped to the roof of an old pickup, the rabbits clenched in the boy’s hands. Mason would know all about the picture. She was sure of it.
“My trophy room.” Mason grinned at her. The first smile she’d seen from him. “You make the same faces my wife did when she looked in there. Never in the forty years we were married did she ever step foot in it.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been making faces. The eyes of a woodcock seemed to follow her and she turned her back to it to escape its stare. She understood the urge to hunt for food, but a woodcock? Then again, she took part in an annual snapper tournament, so who was she to judge?
