by Patricia Fry
"Noooo, about calling Craig. I might as well let him know. I already texted Glenda and told her. She was as surprised as we were to learn that there was a freezer down there. She knew nothing about it. She's going to ask around to see if anyone else knew about it."
"Where are you?" Michael said, after finishing his call to Craig.
"Kitchen," Savannah responded. "So what did he say?" she asked when she saw him walk in.
"He said as far as he knows this was the first case of a missing freezer ever reported in this county." He laughed. "I don't think finding it is very high on his priority list." He looked over Savannah's shoulder as she stood at the kitchen counter. "What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti and turkey meatballs and a spinach salad."
"Mmmm. My favorite."
"Oh, you say that every night. I could serve you jelly-bean stew or chicken-liver sandwiches and you'd say, 'Mmmm, my favorite.'"
"And there's something wrong with that?" he asked.
"No," she said winking at him. "I love that you're so agreeable."
"Hey, I figure if I complain, I'll find myself wearing the apron."
"You got that right. Now sit down and let's eat."
Michael was nearly finished with his meal when he set his fork down and said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Craig said he talked at length with Cheryl and he thinks he knows why she and Julie hated each other so much."
"Why?" Savannah asked.
"Lance Grayson."
"Huh?"
"I guess Cheryl and Lance were a couple—or so Cheryl thought. But Cheryl found out that he was also seeing Julie, who evidently thought she was Lance's one-and-only." He shook his head in disgust. "That guy seems to cause a lot of damage wherever he goes—at least where women are concerned." He cut into a meatball and started to take a bite.
Savannah was quiet for a moment and then she said, "Michael…he called me today."
Michael dropped his fork onto his plate. "What?"
"I didn't answer. He didn't leave a message. It could be that he dialed my number by mistake."
"So you're still willing to give that jerk the benefit of the doubt, are you? Well, I'm not. As far as I'm concerned, he has broken the restraining order. I'm going to have him arrested." Michael reached for his phone. He looked at it and said more calmly, "I have a call." He eyed the screen and said, "I don't know this number." He hesitated and then decided to answer it.
"Hello? What? Who is this? Go to hell!"
Savannah stared over at her husband with fear in her eyes. "Michael, who was that? What did they say?"
He didn't respond. Instead he dialed a number on his phone. "Craig, it's Michael again. Listen, I just got a threatening call. No. I don't know who it was. The voice was weird—like disguised. He seemed to think that I know something and I don't know what that would be. He said that if I talk about what I found, he would hurt me. He said, 'I'll hurt you bad.' Damn Craig, what's going on? Do you know? I haven't found anything that should incriminate anyone." Michael stood, ran his hand through his hair, and began pacing. "Or maybe I have and I just don't know what it is. What do you think this is all about, Craig?"
Michael listened for a moment and then said, "What have I been doing lately? Well, my regular work with my regular patients. Oh, I did go out to a ranch last week owned by a new couple from Frisco. I started the library project today, as you know. That's it…absolutely nothing out of the ordinary." He took in a short breath and said, "Hey, could it have something to do with us finding Adam's fire engine?"
After another moment, he said, "Okay, Craig. I'll do that. Thanks."
When Michael finished the call, he turned toward Savannah, who sat with her hands over her mouth and tears welling up in her eyes. He knelt next to her and took her hand. Speaking more quietly now, he said, "Craig told me just to be wary. It could be a prank call or the wrong number. Or… someone thinks I know something about Julie's murder, which is ridiculous."
****
"Is everything alright, Michael?" Damon asked as the two of them drove to the library the following evening after work.
"Yeah," he said. "Just a little…tired. That's all."
"Had a busy day at work, huh?"
"Yeah." He glanced over at Damon as he drove. "Only not too tired to show you a thing or two about building," he said, punching Damon in the shoulder playfully.
Damon grinned. "Okay, then."
The men had been working at the lower level for an hour under the lights they had rigged when suddenly everything went dark. "What the…?" Michael said. "Must have blown the circuit. Where did we leave those flashlights?"
Just then Michael realized they weren't alone; someone else had joined them. Even in the nearly dark room, he could see a glint of light reflecting from something in the intruder's hand. A gun, he thought. He looked into the stranger's face. It was black. As the figure moved closer, Michael could see that he (or she) was wearing a ski mask, eyes shining through the cut-outs in the dim light.
"I'm sorry you found it, Michael. I really am. It's a shame your little girl will grow up without a daddy. And that great-looking wife of yours. She'll miss you for a while, but it won't take her long to find someone else."
"Who the hell are you?" Michael demanded. "What do you want?"
"It's too late. You know too much," the distorted voice said. "I can't let you take me down—not in my prime—not for something that wasn't my fault."
I have to act fast, Michael thought. I can't let this maniac kill me. He glanced up at Damon, who was standing in the shadows observing the scene, seemingly unnoticed by the gunman. Maybe Damon can slip out behind this guy and call for help. I'll see if I can distract him so Damon can escape. "Hey, I have no intentions of taking you down," he said. "I know it wasn't your fault. In fact, I can help you if you'll just tell me what you're afraid of."
The gunman laughed. "Afraid? You're the one who should be afraid. You're minutes—maybe seconds—away from being dead," the gravelly voice said.
"Well, don't let me die without knowing why. Give me that, would you?"
The intruder stood silent. He took his eyes off Michael for a moment and glanced around him. Suddenly he walked a few steps to the right, knelt down and picked something up. "I want to be sure I hit the mark," he said, shining a flashlight toward Michael.
Michael closed his eyes momentarily and thought about his family and their beautiful life. Where is Damon, dammit? he thought. Wait, is that a siren? It's close. Are they coming here?
When he opened his eyes, the gunman was gone. So was Damon. He stood alone in the dank room, which was dimly lit by the fading light of dusk. What now? He wondered. God, where is Damon? What is that jerk doing up there? Is it safe to go up? "Damon," he whispered loudly. There was no answer. I've gotta take a chance, he thought, as he rushed up the steps to the secret garden. He stopped as he approached the landing and noticed that the door into the library was standing wide open. I'm not going in there, he thought. Too many places to hide. If the cops are here, the gunman might be hiding in there. But where's Damon? God, let him be okay.
Just then, Michael heard a hushed voice from across the patio. "In here, Ben."
"Damon, is that you?" Michael whispered loudly.
"Yeah. Deputy Ben's with me."
Michael looked toward the voice and saw Deputy Ben walking cautiously through the gate on the north side of the secret garden, gun drawn. "He may be hiding in there," Michael whispered, pointing to the open door. He stood back as the deputy eased his way through the door into the library.
"Let's go back down there, Damon—come on—out of the line of any fire," Michael said, quickly leading Damon down the steps to safety. They crouched out of sight and listened. It seemed like forever before they heard anything coming from the library.
"Stop or I'll shoot! Stop!"
Bang! Bang!
"Holy sh…" Damon said.
They heard scuffling above them, another shot, and then silence. Within a few moments, they heard v
oices. "Hey, where are you guys?" one shouted.
"Down here," Michael said. "Can we come out?"
"Yeah, he got away, dammit."
"Did you shoot him?" Damon asked.
"No."
Once Michael and Damon emerged from the sunken room, they saw Deputies Jim and Ben standing just outside the library door. Jim said, "He waited until Ben and I were both on the south side of the library and he scooted out the front door. We shot into the air, but he didn't return fire, nor did he stop. Just ran like hell. I have another unit on his tail. But in this neighborhood, once he takes that ski mask off, he'll just blend in and go unnoticed. Do you know who it is?" he asked.
Both Michael and Damon shook their heads. "Not a clue," Michael said. "But he wants me dead for some reason." He swallowed hard. "I think he would have gotten his wish if you guys hadn't shown up so fast. How did you know about this, anyway?"
"Damon called us."
"That quickly—and without the gunman knowing?" he asked.
"Well, we were in the vicinity. We were on another call when this one came in. We split off from the medical call down the street, doubled back, and came here."
"So the sirens weren't for this call?"
"No, we were just driving by, sirens on—guess that's what made the gunman run, huh?"
Michael shook his head in disbelief. "A coincidence that may have saved our lives."
Just then, they heard another voice. "Hey, when did they put this gate in here?"
Damon called out in recognition, "Craig!"
Deputy Jim nodded. "Detective," he said in greeting.
"How'd you…?" Damon started.
Craig grinned. "Damon, you know you can't keep anything from me. If you're in trouble, I'm gonna to find out about it." He took on a more serious demeanor. "Everything okay here?" he asked.
"Yeah, now it is," Damon said. "But the guy got away."
"What happened?" Craig asked.
"Well, this guy just sneaked in here and threatened to kill me because of what I know—which is nothing," Michael said.
"Damn, does it ever end?" Craig said, picking up his vibrating cell phone. "Yeah, Sledge here," he practically shouted into the phone.
Michael and Damon continued to answer Jim's questions. "Do you have a key to the main part of the library?" he asked.
Michael shook his head. "No, just this courtyard patio gate."
"How do you suppose the library got open?" he asked.
"Heck if I know. I just assumed it was locked. Maybe it wasn't," Michael said.
"Or maybe that guy has a key," Damon offered. "He might work here or something."
"Hmmm, I'll check with the librarian about who has keys to this door."
When Craig ended his call, he approached the men and said, "Excuse me, but I need to go check something out. They've found a body in Walston Canyon." He shook his head, muttering, "No rest for the weary."
Before exiting through the gate, he turned and said, "Michael and Damon, I suggest you quit for the day and stop the project until we get a bead on this guy."
The two men nodded.
Craig started to step out, but stopped again. "Do you know when they put this gate in here?"
Damon shook his head. "It's probably been there forever. It was just hidden behind those bushes." He grinned. "It is a secret garden, after all."
Craig glanced around the area for a moment and then promptly left.
****
Later that evening, Michael's phone rang. "Michael, it's Craig."
"Hi Craig, what's up?"
"Well, I have a few questions for you."
"More questions?" he said, feigning annoyance. "Sure, shoot."
"I also have something to show you. Can I come by?"
Michael glanced at Savannah, who was reading from her Kindle. "Sure, we're just hanging out. Come on over."
Savannah looked up as he ended the call. "Craig's coming over?"
"Yes, says he has something to show me, and more questions."
Savannah turned off the e-reader and leaned forward in the overstuffed chair. "Michael, I am so freaked out about what happened to you today. You're not going back to work at the library until that creep is caught, are you?"
"No. I wouldn't put Damon or myself in that kind of danger. No way."
Fifteen minutes later, Michael ushered Craig in and they sat down across from Savannah. "How are you two this evening? Everything good?" Craig asked.
"Uh, yeah. Pretty good," Savannah said. "How're things with you? Looks like you're working late."
"Gotta put in the hours if you wanna catch the bad guys," he said.
"So have you caught any bad guys today?" Michael asked.
"'Fraid not. But we're on a trail." When there was no verbal response, Craig continued. "Michael, tell me about the freezer you saw at the library, will you?"
Startled, Michael said, "Oh…uh, it was a chest freezer, I'd say about five-by-four-by-maybe-four. It was white—very dirty."
"Did you look inside?"
"No, it was locked. We left to get a crowbar to open it, figured we'd find it full of venison. When we returned, the freezer was gone."
"Do you know what brand it was?"
Michael shook his head slowly. "No, I didn't notice that. Maybe Damon did." He started to take a sip from his water bottle, then said, "I can tell you it has a small red light that shows when the thing is plugged in and running."
"Is this it?" Craig asked showing Michael a photograph.
"Yeah, looks like the same one." He looked at Craig inquisitively. "Why are you interested in the freezer?"
Craig cleared his throat. "Well, we think we found it."
Michael frowned. "Where?"
"Deep in a canyon where it would have been hidden…maybe forever…except for a dog."
"A dog?" Savannah asked.
"Yes, a group of hikers lost their dog. He went after a rabbit or something and got himself in trouble—slid down into this canyon. One of the hikers went down after him and he became stuck. When the rescue folks got there, one of them saw this freezer lying sideways in the brush, the lid open and the contents lying out in front of it." He looked at Savannah and then Michael. "The contents wasn't venison, but you were close. It was a body."
"What?" Michael said. He stood and began pacing. He stopped and turned toward Craig. "Who was it?" he asked.
"We're working on a positive, but we think we've found a missing person who's been gone for about four years. No ID yet."
Michael ran his hand through his hair. "Good lord," he said.
"And he's been in that freezer in the library all this time?" Savannah asked.
"Looks that way," Craig said.
"So the guy who's been threatening me must have put him there, right?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure of that. But we don't know who it is, yet. We should get the results back this evening. If the victim is who I think it is, Savannah, I'd like to engage your assistance with something."
"Me? To do what?" she asked.
"Well, if this is Chris Sparks, I need to speak with his wife and, from what I understand, she won't let a man near her. Have either of you ever met Leslie Sparks?"
Michael and Savannah both shook their heads.
"From the pictures I've seen, Leslie is quite a beautiful woman. After her husband disappeared, she had a breakdown and my sources tell me she's still institutionalized."
"And she won't let a man near her?" Savannah asked. "So you need a woman to…do what?"
"To see if you can get anything out of her. I don't know how rational she is or how much she knows or remembers, but I need to find out. I figured she might talk to another woman—especially one who is very attractive."
"Well, thank you, Sir." She glanced at Michael before asking Craig, "But what does attractiveness have to do with anything?"
Craig leaned against the back of the sofa. "I'm told that she responds to beautiful women and doesn't seem to have much use for women who ar
en't pretty. It's some result of her illness, I guess," he explained.
Savannah glanced at Michael before responding to Craig. "Yeah, I'll help if I can. Just give me a list of questions. Who will she think I am? I mean, how will I identify myself?"
"I haven't quite decided. But I'm thinking you could masquerade as a journalist."
"Colbi's a journalist," Michael said. "Why not get her to do it? She's used to it and she's an attractive woman."
"Colbi is a journalist and she's pretty," Craig said, "but I have a hunch that she would relate more closely with Savannah."
"From one to ten, what's the danger level?" Michael asked, his eyes piercing Craig's.
"Uh…gosh, maybe 0 to 1. I mean, Savannah will be driving on the freeway to get there and we all know that driving can be a detriment to our health." He chuckled. "No, Michael, she's not in any danger. The worst that could happen is that Leslie won't talk or can't remember anything."
****
The following afternoon, after getting the go-ahead from Craig, Savannah dropped off Lily at Margaret's and drove forty miles to the facility where Leslie Sparks had lived for the past four years.
Savannah walked into the building at twelve-thirty, sharp. She approached the reception desk. "I'd like to see Sharon Crosley, please. I'm Savannah Ivey."
The receptionist looked Savannah up and down and then said, "Sure." She punched some numbers on the phone pad and said into the receiver, "A Savannah Ivey here to see you." She nodded, hung up the phone, and said, "Go on in—second door on your left."
Savannah thanked the receptionist and walked down the hallway to a door marked Private. She was warmly greeted by a short stocky woman with shaggy blond hair framing a friendly, round face. "Sit down, Ms. Ivey."
Once both women were seated, Sharon said, "As you know, I'm Leslie's caseworker, nurse, friend—you name it. She doesn't get many visitors." She sighed. "Well, she did at first, but she turned them all away, so few come to see her anymore."
"Can you tell me who does visit her?" Savannah asked.
"Sure—her twin sister, a long-time childhood friend, and, she surprised me by allowing a new friend in a few weeks ago. Let's see—her name was Julie, I believe."
Savannah perked up. "Julie? What can you tell me about her?"
