by Cindi Myers
“You’re not in trouble,” he said. “The guy you were harassing disappeared, and we persuaded the shop owner not to press charges, as long as we agreed to keep you away from his store in the future.”
“That guy was Phil Starling—Lauren’s ex,” she said as she followed Rand and one of the Montrose police officers into the booking area. “He’s here in Montrose.”
“That explains why we haven’t been able to reach him in Denver.” He waited while the officer returned Sophie’s belongings to her, then took her arm and escorted her outside to the parking lot.
“What about Emma and Abby?” Sophie asked, looking around for her friends.
“They left a few minutes ago with Graham and Michael.”
“Thanks for coming to pick me up. I know you didn’t have to do that.” Rand didn’t have any obligation to her—not like Michael and Graham had to Abby and Emma.
“I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch,” he said.
His expression was so warm, so caring, that she had to look away. Being with Rand always unsettled her. She was definitely attracted to him, but now was the worst possible time to start a relationship, with Lauren missing and Sophie in town for, she hoped, only a few days, until her sister was found.
He grinned. “Nothing like an arrest to bring couples together.”
“Not funny.” Sophie slid into the passenger seat of the Cruiser. “Don’t you think it’s significant that Phil is here in Montrose, and that he was so hostile toward me?”
“What, exactly, did he do that was so hostile?” Rand started the Cruiser.
“He was following me and glaring at me. And he threatened me.”
Rand glanced at her sharply. “What kind of threat?”
“He told me to go home and keep my nose out of business that didn’t concern me.”
“What was he referring to, do you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I was trying to find out when the local police showed up.”
“Next time you think some guy is following you, call me,” Rand said.
“By the time you showed up, he would have left. The store owner was out of line calling the police. It wasn’t as if we started a brawl or something.”
“Still, you could have been hurt. It’s dangerous to confront someone like that.”
“I wanted to know what he was doing. And I wanted to know if he knew anything about Lauren—if he’d seen her or talked to her. And what he was doing here. The last I’d heard, he lived and worked in Denver.”
“What kind of work does he do?” Rand pulled out of the parking lot.
“He’s an actor. Quite a good one, I guess. At least, he had regular work with a Denver theater company.”
“But Lauren was paying him support?”
“Yes. She made more money than he did, so the court awarded him monthly support payments.” She ran her hand up and down the strap of her seat belt. “I told her she should have fought it, but she was so blindsided by Phil’s request for the divorce she was too numb to do anything. And he had a shark lawyer who really went after her.”
“What about the other woman? What does she do?”
“She’s an actor, too. Glenda Pierce. That’s how they met—they were in a play together.”
“Do you know if she was with him today?”
Sophie shook her head. “I’ve never met her. But he seemed to be alone.”
“We’ll try to track him down and question him.”
“Maybe he’ll know something that will help us find Lauren. But part of me is afraid to hope.”
“Hang in there,” he said. “We’re getting more pieces of the puzzle all the time. All we have to do is put them together the right way to give us the picture we need.”
“What have you discovered?” She half turned in her seat to face him.
“We went back to the hotel and talked to both clerks and the maintenance man. They identified one of the men who visited Lauren at the hotel as a guy who runs a local fish shop, Alan Milbanks.”
“A fish shop?” She wrinkled her nose. “What was Lauren doing with him?”
“He’s suspected of dealing drugs out of the shop, though local police haven’t been able to gather enough evidence to convict him.”
“Lauren did not take drugs.”
“You sure about that? It’s not unusual for people with mental illness to self-medicate.”
“She wouldn’t do that. She had her prescribed medications and she was very good about taking them. She hardly ever even drinks alcohol.”
He nodded and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m wondering if her meeting with this guy had anything to do with the big story she was working on.”
“That’s probably it.” Excitement made her jittery. “Did you talk to him? What did he say?”
“He says he doesn’t know her and the clerk is lying. But he didn’t convince me. We’re working on getting a warrant to bring him in for questioning.”
“Was someone with him when he met Lauren?” she asked. “You said ‘men.’”
“That’s another interesting thing we learned. The man Marlee saw Lauren with wasn’t Alan Milbanks.”
“Then who was it?”
“She identified him as Phil Starling.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “So you knew he was in town already? When were you going to tell me?”
“I would have told you tonight at dinner, if you hadn’t run into him yourself first.”
“Have you talked to him? Do you know where he’s staying?”
“Negative on both of those, but we’ve got people working on tracking him down.”
She sat back, letting this information sink in as they passed fields of head-high cornstalks and lots lined with combines and corn trailers, awaiting harvest. “Maybe Richard Prentice doesn’t have anything to do with Lauren’s disappearance at all,” she said, thinking out loud. “Maybe Phil is the one behind it. It makes more sense, really. Didn’t I read somewhere that most violent crimes are committed by people the victims know?”
“That’s generally true,” he said. “But Lauren supposedly knew Prentice, too.”
“Not as well as she knew Phil. They were married for almost seven years.”
“We’ll see what he has to say for himself. Meanwhile, did you think of anything else that would help us? Did you remember anything Lauren said to you about this big story?”
She shook her head. “I’ve racked my brain, but all she said was that she had a big story that was going to prove to the station how valuable she was to them. She wouldn’t give me any details.”
“We’re going to keep working on this. We’ll find her.”
“Thank you.” She faced forward in the seat once more. “And I’m sorry about the things I said earlier, about you not doing your job.”
“Believe me, I’ve heard worse. Now how about that dinner? I know a great Thai place. Or if you like Mexican...”
“Before we do that, I want to see Lauren’s car.”
“Her car?”
“Yes. You said it’s in an impound lot—that’s local, right?”
“Yeah, but what’s seeing her car going to do?”
“I just want to see it. Humor me.”
“All right.” He slowed and switched on his blinker, then executed a U-turn. They headed out of town, past the airport. She spotted a sign that said Fresh Fish. “Is that the fish shop you were talking about?” she asked.
“Yes. Promise me you won’t go there and talk to the guy on your own.”
“I won’t,” she said. Though maybe she could stop in sometime. Just to see him, not to talk...
“I mean it,” Rand said. “It could jeopardize our case if you interfere. And I don’t want to have to bail
you out of jail again.”
“You didn’t have to bail me out.” But his teasing tone made her smile. “I promise, I won’t go near the place—at least not without you.”
The impound yard sat off the main highway, rows of cars behind a tall fence and a locked gate. Rand chose a key from the ring he carried and opened the gate, then drove in.
Sophie spotted Lauren’s yellow Mustang, a flashy car for a woman who liked to be noticed. It sat at the far end of the lot, a fine film of dust dulling the finish. Rand stopped behind the car and they got out.
“I can check in the office for the key,” he said.
“It’s all right. It’s open.” Sophie pulled open the driver’s door, then stopped and looked at Rand. “Is it okay if I look inside?”
“Go ahead. The local cops have already been over it.”
She slid into the driver’s seat and stared out the window, trying to imagine what Lauren had last seen when she sat here. Had she arranged to meet someone at the overlook and left with them? Had she gone willingly, or been dragged away, kicking and screaming?
She put the image out of her mind and focused on searching the interior of the car. The glove box turned up only the car’s manual, a mini flashlight, a pair of sunglasses and the receipt for an oil change dated three months ago. The console was just as uninteresting—a check from a fast-food restaurant, a gas receipt and a tube of lip balm.
A glance at the backseat showed it was empty. Sighing, Sophie sat back and closed her eyes. Help me out here, Lauren, she sent the silent message. Where should I be looking?
The memory came to her of a trip the two sisters had taken together last year, when they’d driven from Sophie’s condo in Madison to the Wisconsin Dells for a weekend getaway. They’d decided to splurge on a spa visit and Lauren had retrieved an envelope from beneath the front floor mat. “Emergency cash,” she’d said. “I call it my mad money. If I keep it here, I have it if I need it, but I’m not tempted to spend it, the way I would if it was in my purse.”
Sophie bent and pulled up the driver’s side floor mat. She had to tug hard, since it was held in place by plastic hooks. Her heart raced when she saw the rectangular white envelope in the center of the space where the mat had been.
“Find something?” Rand opened the door and leaned in.
Sophie picked up the envelope. It felt stiff, as if it contained a piece of cardboard. “I remember Lauren used to hide money beneath the floor mat,” she said. “But this doesn’t feel like cash.”
“Open it, but use the tips of your fingernails, and only touch the edges,” he said.
She slid a nail beneath the flap of the envelope, then shook out a single photograph. Rand leaned in closer, his cheek practically touching hers. She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and smell his clean, masculine scent.
She forced herself to focus on the grainy, black-and-white photo of two men talking to each other, standing beside a car in what looked like a parking lot. “Isn’t that Richard Prentice?” she asked, staring at the man on the left.
“It is,” Rand said. “And the other man is the fish shop owner, Alan Milbanks. Did Lauren ever mention that name to you?”
She shook her head. “I never heard of him until you mentioned him to me.”
“He may have been the last person to see Lauren before she disappeared.”
* * *
RAND AND SOPHIE returned to Ranger headquarters with the photograph. Graham and Michael Dance met them there. “This photo proves a link between Lauren and Alan Milbanks,” Sophie said. “And a link between Alan and Richard Prentice.”
“Let’s bring him in for questioning,” Graham said. He studied the photo. “Where was this taken, I wonder.”
“Looks like a parking lot,” Rand said. “The photo’s grainy enough, it could be a still from a security camera.”
Graham passed the photo to Rand. “Give it to Simon—see if he can determine where it came from. In the meantime, you and Michael bring Milbanks in. Let’s see if he can tell us more about this picture and his relationship with Richard Prentice and Lauren Starling.”
“What can I do while you’re gone?” Sophie asked. She was doing a good job of keeping it together, presenting a calm outer facade, but he sensed her anxiety climbing.
“We have copies of your sister’s cell phone records. Get with Carmen and see how many of the numbers you recognize.” He squeezed her shoulder. Maybe when he got back with Milbanks, they could have that dinner they’d been putting off. He was looking forward to sitting down with her and having a conversation that didn’t focus on police work and her missing sister.
“All right. I’ll do that.” She turned to Graham. “I’m sorry about the trouble we caused downtown,” she said.
“Never mind that.” He waved away her apology. “Emma said the store owner overreacted. But I can see I need to keep you three women away from each other. Emma can get into enough trouble by herself. She doesn’t need help.”
Rand left Sophie at his desk, scanning through the call list from Lauren’s cell phone carrier. He loaded Lotte into his cruiser while Michael Dance waited in the passenger seat. Behind them, the dog danced around, panting excitedly. “What’s up with her?” Michael asked. “Why is she so antsy?”
“She knows something’s up. That she’s going to work.” He started the vehicle and backed out of his parking space.
“How does she know that?”
“I guess she picks up vibes from me.” He shrugged. “Dogs are sensitive. They’re attuned to their surroundings in a way we can’t even imagine.”
Once again, he headed out of the park, back toward town and the fish market. Michael fiddled with the radio, but finally switched it off. Reception was lousy here in the mountains. “So, what do you make of this Sophie chick?” he asked.
Rand stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think she’s on the level, all this stuff about being followed and smelling her sister’s perfume and all?”
“Yeah, I think she’s telling the truth. Don’t you?”
“I was just wondering. I hear sometimes mental problems run in families.”
He gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles whitening. “Yeah, so what’s your excuse?”
“Hey, don’t be so touchy. I’m just trying to look at this from all angles. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”
“Sophie’s only problem is that she’s concerned about her sister, who’s been missing a month, and the police have made pretty much zero progress on the case. I don’t blame her for being a little upset.”
“She got to you pretty quick, didn’t she?”
He glared at Michael. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m just saying I recognize the signs. It happened to me that way with Abby—one look and I was a goner.”
“But you two had known each other before, over in Afghanistan.”
“We met once—and not under the best of circumstances. She wasn’t even conscious.” Michael had been a pararescuer in the air force’s rescue squadron and Abby had been a casualty he’d helped airlift out of a combat zone. When her heart stopped en route, he’d revived her—but she’d remembered none of that until they met again five years later, after she stumbled onto a shooting in the park’s backcountry while she was conducting research for her master’s thesis.
Rand’s relationship with Sophie—if he could even call it a relationship—wasn’t on that level. “I feel for Sophie, that’s all,” he said. “She’s had a rough time of it.”
“So that’s all you feel—sympathy?”
Sympathy. And a strong physical attraction. He admired her courage and her devotion to her sister. He wanted to know more about her and he enjoyed just being with her. What did all that add up to? “Mind your own business,”
he said.
“Abby likes her, if that makes you feel any better.”
“I’d say Abby has good judgment, except she’s with you.”
“Here’s a little unsolicited advice—if you really feel there’s something there, don’t be afraid to go for it. Let her know how you feel and see what happens.”
“When I need your advice I’ll ask for it, which is never.”
“Right.” Smiling, Michael folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. “You can thank me at the wedding.”
The image of Sophie, in a white gown and veil, jolted him. But not in a bad way. He shook his head, trying to shake off the wave of unsettling emotions. Dogs were much easier to deal with than women. You always knew where you stood with canines; women were much harder to figure out.
Fifteen minutes passed in relative silence, the excited panting of Lotte over his shoulder and the hum of tires on pavement calming his jangled nerves. He signaled for the turn into the fish market parking lot and Michael opened his eyes and sat up straighter. “What’s this Milbanks character like?” he asked.
“Nervous and suspicious,” Rand said. “He was sweating buckets and all we were doing was asking a few questions.”
“Let’s hope he’s not trigger-happy.”
Theirs was the only vehicle in the parking lot. The store was dark and empty. Michael parked the vehicle around the back of the building, out of sight of the street. He unloaded Lotte and clipped on her leash, then followed Michael around to the front door. “The hours posted on the door say they should be open until six-thirty,” Michael said. “It’s six thirty-five.” He tried the knob and it turned easily in his hand.
One hand on his weapon, Michael slipped inside. Rand followed, a few paces back, alert for any movement within the store. Lotte strained on her leash, ears forward, tail wagging slowly.
Nothing looked out of place. The shelves of seasonings, cookbooks and a few canned goods were orderly. The coolers full of fish hummed away.
“Mr. Milbanks!” Michael called. “Mr. Milbanks, it’s the police. We need to talk to you.”
No answer. Michael nodded to Rand. “Check out back,” he said.
