Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  “You realize I barely know these people, right Grant?” If they’d been talking in person—and kids—they would have been rolling around on the floor punching each other by now. But that was a long time ago. They both had different ways to exorcize their frustrations now. “I need more than two days.”

  “Just read her file.”

  The bell over the door clanged. Two older ladies toddled in, spoke to Dotty and got waved to a seat.

  John gripped the phone. “I’m going to figure this out. I get how important it is to you but don’t worry. You didn’t make a mistake in bringing me here, even if this is a trial period. I might not stay, but I will do my job.”

  “I know that. But you’ve been pretending for years now, undercover, playing the game, talking the talk. Are you sure you can do this? It’s homicide.”

  Rolling his eyes wasn’t going to look too professional. “I’m good. How are things with Genevieve?”

  “Don’t worry about my marriage, okay? Keep your head on task.”

  “Nate has a game tonight.”

  “I’ll be watching.”

  They hung up.

  John figured some kind of apology needed to be made, so he rounded his desk to Dotty’s card table in the corner. He braced on hand on the desk and the other on the back of her chair and leaned in to speak quietly. “I’m sorry I was short. I should apologize for that.” He smiled. “Just smack me upside the head next time, okay?”

  Her eyebrow crept up again. “Perhaps.”

  “You’re going to make me grovel aren’t you?”

  “Definitely.” She laughed at her own humor. “These ladies are here to see you.”

  “Right.” He straightened and smiled at the two older women in the waiting area. Clearly sisters, he couldn’t tell which was older. “Of course.”

  A man opened the door. Suit. Forties maybe. He glanced at both ladies and frowned. “Mom, Auntie May, you were supposed to wait for me.” He shot John a commiserating smile. “Sorry. They’re not supposed to be in here bothering you when there are probably more important things you need to be doing.”

  The ladies looked at each other. One tutted and the other rolled her eyes as though both were perfectly accustomed to having him question their antics.

  Someone else pushed in behind the man, a woman with a baby stroller and a toddler in tow. She was followed by another couple of men older than him.

  John glanced at each of them and then let his attention settle on the ladies. “What can I help you with?”

  They both stood. The one on the left spoke first. “We heard you have a suspect.”

  “We haven’t slept since it happened.”

  “We’re scared to go out after dark.”

  “We want to know when you’re going to arrest the killer!”

  People pressed in the door, which stuck open as more and more townspeople pushed their way in. Dotty’s desk was surrounded. John stepped back. Palmer rounded his desk, hands raised. “Folks—”

  They pushed him aside.

  “What are you going to do about this, Sheriff?”

  “Someone was murdered!”

  “My children are having nightmares!”

  “When are you going to arrest her?”

  “Andra killed Betty! I want her out of town!”

  “Yeah, get her out! She shouldn’t be here.”

  John stepped on his chair and then climbed onto his desk. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The sound pierced his ears, but they all shut up even if half of them were wincing and he made the baby cry.

  “Listen up.” He took a breath and then launched in. “This is a murder investigation. It’s not about who thinks who did what. Coming in here and pressuring me to make an arrest with no evidence and no warrant does nothing but waste my time and yours. Let me do the job I came here for.”

  The crowd launched into a fresh round of shouting accusations.

  “Quiet!”

  They hushed.

  John folded his arms. “If you wish to make a statement with regard to me as the new sheriff or my conduct or the marshals service in general, then Deputy Palmer will escort you to the Meeting House where you can sit down with him and have your say. I have a case to solve, so when you’re all finally done and Palmer can join me in finding the murder weapon, then we’ll do that. Unless you would care to use up more time yelling about us not making you safe when you’re the ones stopping us from doing just that.”

  Palmer’s face went from furious—apparently he hadn’t liked the idea of taking thirty-five statements—to admiration. At least someone was on his side.

  “Preach it.”

  John glanced over and Dotty winked.

  “Does anyone want to make a statement?”

  No one said anything.

  “Thank you for stopping by. Please leave now.”

  Dotty cackled with laughter. Even Palmer chuckled as the crowd filed out.

  John blew out a breath. “Are they always like that?”

  Dotty thought for a minute. “Yes.”

  “Great.”

  “I think you handled them just fine, darlin’. If this was a democracy you’d have my vote. But, sadly, the powers that be installed you in this position and I had no say in it.” She gave him a look. “Neither did those people. No one’s ever been murdered here. This place is their sanctuary and all this probably brings up memories they’d rather forget. Too bad the past will always find you in Sanctuary.”

  John stood. “I’ll try to be nicer next time.”

  “Oh, no, darlin’. You give it to ‘em straight.”

  He laughed. “Come on, Palmer. Let’s go find that murder weapon.”

  Chapter 11

  John slumped into the booth across from Pat. The murder weapon was still nowhere to be found and the chances that they’d find a blood-stained knife lying around were growing smaller and smaller.

  Then again, it could be anything; lots of things could make an inch wide deep cut that weren’t necessarily knives. If it had been cleaned, John would have to rustle up some Luminol to test for blood. Did they even have any, or was he going to have to wait a week for another delivery? Then there was the question of whether it would actually have the killer’s prints on it.

  John didn’t know how homicide detectives did it, considering they worked multiple cases at once.

  Pat’s face was hidden. John pulled down the plastic menu with his finger. “How was school?”

  Pat’s nose wrinkled. “She just made me do a bunch of worksheets and read a couple of chapters of this book about a magic tree. I did some math problems, and we talked for a while and she asked me about a whole bunch of stuff. She said she’s going to get me set up with the computer. They do school first and then go to the library and work on the computers because the stuff they do is online. Then they’re done after lunch.” He shrugged his little shoulders. “It sounds okay.”

  “What time do you have to be there tomorrow?”

  “Like, nine-fifteen or something.”

  Right. John would have to check on that. Still, “Nine-fifteen? When I was a kid we had to be at school at six-thirty and it was two miles away. We walked the whole the way. And in the winter there’d be snow and freezing rain.”

  Pat erupted into giggles. “You did not. Grandma told me you rode the bus.”

  “I can’t get away with anything, Grandma always ruins it.” John smiled. “This one time, Uncle Nate and Uncle Ben threw my backpack out the window and I had to get off the bus to get it. Then the bus drove away while I was standing there. They’d told the bus driver I was going home because I was sick. It was cold and I had to walk all the way to school. Uncle Grant got off and walked with me, though. He told the driver he was sick too. We got to school an hour late and we were frozen, but it was fun. We played a prank on Uncle Ben and Uncle Nate to get them back for it.”

  Pat sighed big and loud. “That sounds cool. I wish I had brothers.”

  “I know buddy.�
�

  It wasn’t going to happen. Even though John’s mom had pulled him aside before they left and told him to be “open” to relationships. Something about how Pat needed a complete family and not just one in pieces like he had. As if John didn’t know that.

  For now all his free time needed to be making up for the lost year with his son. And trying to figure out why someone had killed the mayor’s wife.

  “What’ll it be?” Maria, Matthias’s sister, smiled at them. Her waitress uniform was yellow and she had on a whole lot of make-up. Why did women do that?

  John smiled. “Two cheeseburgers, fries and two chocolate shakes.”

  Pat nearly jumped from his seat. “Awesome!”

  “Coming right up.” She strode away, the awkward movements of someone in pain and trying to hide it.

  A dark figure stepped up to their table and John looked up. And up. The man was over six-six. He looked like a bear. A familiar bear. “Sam Tura?”

  The man laughed. “In another life, I believe.”

  John stood and introduced himself, got his hand crushed, and turned to Pat. “Sam’s a boxer.” He looked at the bear. “I saw that fight against Pecos. That was rough, man.” It just wasn’t the reason Sam was here.

  “You fight?”

  If John said yes, was he going to end up in the ring? Did he want that? “A little.”

  Sam pointed a beefy finger at the window. The name on the building across the street was Sleight of Hand, the gym John had seen on Battle Night. “The paint is peeling, but the bags are heavy.”

  The man was a bona-fide poet. Who knew? John smiled. “That’s your gym?”

  “For sure. You think I could survive in this cage without an outlet?” Sam grinned. “It’s better than beating on the locals by a long shot.”

  “I’m gonna have to agree with you on that one.” John pointed at his badge. “Sheriff and all.”

  “Come by sometime. I’ll see what you’ve got.”

  John didn’t particularly like losing—or being pounded on—but he’d pay money to be in the ring with Sam Tura. “That sounds great.”

  “Dinner’s on the house.”

  “Seriously?”

  Sam shrugged. “It’s my place. I can do what I want and I don’t take no lip.”

  The stenciled lettering on the front window said Estelle’s. “This is your place?”

  “Long story.” He pulled the white dish towel from his shoulder. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Maria came back over carrying a tray and set it on the table with a wince. “Here you go boys.”

  Beyond her, Sam narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. John met his gaze and Sam nodded. John was content to let the man handle his own business. But he’d be sure to ask Sam about what was going on with Maria when they met up at the gym.

  After dinner John walked his son back to the apartment so Pat could put on his Dolphins jersey and then they headed back to the Meeting House. A screen had been pulled down from the ceiling and groups of guys sat around the room, watching the pre-game chatter. John pulled up the case file on his tablet and read over his notes, making a list of people from the scene he’d need to interview. Talking to the mayor again also wasn’t a bad idea. He needed to see how the man was doing with his grief and if he’d remembered anything else.

  The lack of information was disturbing. Murder didn’t happen for no reason and John wasn’t willing to accept there might never be an explanation. Not at this point.

  Pat whooped and John looked up. Nate ran down the field, turned and caught the ball. He ran two yards and threw it down.

  “Touchdown!”

  John grinned. The kid really needed a foam finger.

  Twenty minutes later Nate stood on the side of the field. His forehead dripped with sweat. How hot was it in Florida? It was after dark there, so the stadium floodlights lit up the crowd of players. Nate looked at the camera and waved it closer. He signed P-A-T with his fingers then blew a kiss to the camera.

  “He did it!” Pat jumped up. “Uncle Nate sent me love!”

  John laughed, as did several people sitting around them. His son was going to win this town’s hearts over for sure.

  This was what John had missed for the past year. His focus had been solely on the assignment. Situations like that where you couldn’t just play the role but you had to live it, there wasn’t much headspace to be worrying about home. Still, in those quiet moments when he was alone, John’s heart had hurt for his son.

  Before long, Nate was helmeted up and back on the field. John lowered his tablet to watch the play.

  His brother ran down the field, turned and was slammed by a Giant.

  John winced. The guy climbed off Nate but Nate didn’t move. Pat lowered his arms. John put his hand on Pat’s shoulder but his son moved forward, parting two chairs so he could get closer to the screen.

  The Meeting House was quiet. On the screen, medics ran across the field and crouched beside Nate.

  John’s phone rang. He pulled it from the clip on his belt and looked at the screen. It was Grant.

  “Are you seeing this?”

  John bit his lip. “Yeah, we’re watching.”

  Pat glanced at him. “Is Uncle Nate okay?”

  “I don’t know buddy. He got hit pretty hard. But he’s wearing a lot of pads. We have to wait and see.”

  “Gees, you suck at this.” Grant groaned. “Tell him Nate’s gonna be fine.”

  “That might work with your girls.” John wasn’t going to lie to his son, not again.

  This wasn’t telling him he’d be back soon and then being gone for a year, but it was still important. Nate could be seriously hurt. It could be something that would heal in time or he could be back on the field in ten minutes. Pat needed honesty, not truth so veiled it was basically just a disguised lie.

  “Call me if you find out anything.”

  Nate was lifted on a stretcher and carried off the field. John crouched by his son.

  He didn’t know if this was going to work, but he had a hunch his son was enough like him it just might. “I’ll call Grandma. I bet she’s worried. If you talk to her, do you think you could cheer her up?” John smiled but he didn’t feel it. How hard had Nate been hit? “I’ll make a call too, and we’ll find out if Uncle Nate is okay. All right?”

  Pat tore his eyes from the screen, where the game continued. “That sounds okay. I bet Grandma is really worried.”

  His little fingers gripped John’s as they walked back to the apartment. John slumped on the couch and Pat came to sit on the other end. His son’s whole demeanor had darkened. Maybe Grant had been right. “I’m sure he’ll be okay, buddy.”

  Pat sniffed and looked away. John had no idea what to say to make his son feel better. He was so out of practice it wasn’t the least bit amusing how much he sucked at this. He didn’t know what his son needed. “Pat—”

  “Can we just call Grandma?”

  “Sure.” John dialed.

  “H-Hello?”

  “Hey Mom, it’s John.”

  “Is Nate okay, do you know? Ben wants the number for his coach or someone with the team, so he can call and find out.”

  “I’ll see what I can get while you talk to Pat, okay?”

  John handed the phone over and ran down to his computer, which had internet access. He scoured the team website and then sent an email to Grant asking if he knew how they could find out.

  Pat stood by the desk, holding the phone out. “Grandma had another call coming in. She thought it might be Uncle Nate.”

  “You okay, buddy?”

  “Can I watch a movie in bed?”

  John sighed. “That’s fine.”

  What was he supposed to do? Solving a murder was logical once you broke it down into tasks. Eventually he would get to the end, and find out who did it. Navigating his son’s emotions was so much harder. Pat didn’t give anything up easily.

  **

  Pat sat in the back of the classroom. He wasn’
t really reading from the book, even if it was more interesting than what they were talking about. He still didn’t know if Uncle Nate was going to be okay.

  There were six kids in the class, but four of them were big kids and the other was a girl. Pat was the youngest because Matthias’s nephews weren’t in Kindergarten yet.

  The school was only as big as one of the classrooms at his old school, plus some bathrooms. There was a playground outside but it didn’t even have swings, so what was the point? They were out west of town almost at the road to the ranch. Maybe if Matthias came into town Pat would see him drive past. But he wouldn’t be able to go out and talk to him.

  Pat probably couldn’t help Aaron with the mail on Mondays, either. He’d just end up sitting here for years and years until he was old and he could get a job doing…something. A professional at BMX tricks would be cool. Bobby’s older brother designed computer games where you shot people’s heads off and blood spurted out. But Pat wasn’t allowed to play those, so he didn’t figure his dad would let him do that.

  “Okay.” Mrs. Pepper looked at the clock. “That’s enough debate for today. Let’s all head over to the library and get our work done, shall we?”

  Pat grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. The library was across the street, another building all by itself. It wasn’t attached to the one next to it like the ones on Main Street were. If they had to walk by the sheriff’s office, he could at least find out if his dad knew something about Uncle Nate.

  The teenagers went out first. Pat followed them and the twelve year old girl whose name he couldn’t remember.

  “Hey bud.” His dad was leaning against his Jeep.

  “Dad!” Pat ran over and hugged him. “How’s Uncle Nate?”

  “Just another sprained ankle. He’s gonna be fine.”

  Pat blew out a breath. “That’s good.”

  “Your uncle said he’d call you later, when you’re out of school.”

  “You talked to him?”

  His dad smiled. “He sounded funny. The medicine they gave him made his voice slur and he kept laughing. But I made him give the phone to a nurse who promised she’d make sure he called you on my phone.”