by Joyce Lavene
“We’re taking her to the Blue Whale,” Kevin said. “She’s not going to do anyone any good if she collapses.”
I stared at the chief, hoping he’d understand my appeal for this bit of humanity.
“All right. We’ll know where to find her,” he finally said.
Kowalski was furious. “I didn’t give permission for that!”
“You don’t have to give me permission in my own town to be civil to a guest, Agent. Kevin, Dae—you take good care of Ms. Lafferty, but keep a phone handy. If this breaks, it could happen very quickly.”
I agreed to those terms. I was proud of the chief for standing up to Kowalski, who threw his hands in the air and walked away.
“Could I have a few words with you?” I asked the chief when we were alone.
“I have just enough time for a few words, Mayor. That’s about it.” He walked back into his office.
“Don’t worry,” Kevin assured me as he walked Melinda to the door. “I’ll take her to the Blue Whale. She can stay with me while she’s here.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she protested weakly. “I don’t have any money until I start my new job. That’s why I left Betsy with Chuck.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Not a problem,” Kevin told her. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“I’ll catch a ride over when I’m done,” I said cheerfully. “Thanks.”
I hadn’t planned on taking Melinda to the Blue Whale. I was going to take her back to my house. But I couldn’t complain, since Kevin was ready to shoulder the responsibility of getting her settled somewhere else. He definitely had more room than we had.
I gave Melinda a hug and told her that she’d be all right with Kevin. Then I walked past Agent Kowalski, who’d taken a stance, arms folded against his chest, in front of the chief’s door. I resisted the urge to poke my tongue out at him, and slammed the door to the chief’s office in his face.
“What’s going on?” I demanded when I was alone with him. “Why aren’t the FBI taking the sketch of Dillon Guthrie seriously? I thought Agent Kowalski didn’t mind working with gifted people. He seemed to like Ann a lot.”
“I don’t really know. I’ve never heard of this Guthrie fellow before,” he admitted. “They say he’s worked around these parts for years as the head of some big smuggling ring. Too big for us to be more than a blip on his radar, I guess.”
Chief Michaels sounded a bit disappointed that Guthrie hadn’t considered Duck a worthy spot to do “business.” I, on the other hand, thought it a good thing that Guthrie didn’t normally work around here.
“What do we know about him?” I asked, hoping he’d share some helpful information.
“He’s a bad guy, Mayor. Got a rap sheet longer than your arm for some terrible things. But Agent Kowalski and his superiors say kidnapping, even murdering Chuck, isn’t something a man like Guthrie would do. It’s beneath him. He’d have someone else do it—and he’d make sure he could not be linked to the crime. My hands are tied right now. And I’m afraid the clock is ticking.”
I sat down in one of the chairs in front of the chief’s desk. “You know me. You know I don’t see random images. I’m the one who led everyone to Chuck and knew that Betsy was missing. I’m telling you this man killed Chuck in the Harris Teeter parking lot, Chief. He has Betsy—somewhere. If we don’t do something to help her, she’ll die.”
He rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. “You know I’m not real comfortable with all this stuff, Dae. But I know you have the gift. I’ve seen you use it your whole life. I saw your grandmother before you do amazing things. No doubt about it.”
He sat forward. “But that other woman that used to work with the FBI told Kowalski she believes the girl is dead. He isn’t exactly taking her word for it, but I get the feeling he thinks too much time has gone by and that she may be right. He’s still working on the case. We’ll have to see what happens.”
“Maybe it would be for the best if the FBI left so the Duck Police could look for Betsy without them.”
“We don’t have that kind of experience, Dae. You know that. I’m sure Horace didn’t work more than one kidnapping in his whole career. We need their help on this. I’m not saying we’ll give up if they leave, but we stand a better chance of finding that little girl with them.”
“There has to be some link between Chuck and Guthrie,” I insisted. “It can’t hurt to check that out.”
He nodded and tossed a stapled group of papers toward me. “Chuck had gotten himself in a mess. His financial records show that little stunt of his, getting involved in trying to cheat Miss Mildred last year, cost him a lot of business. I’m surprised he even stayed here. Between that and the downturn in the real estate market, it must’ve been all he could do to stay alive.”
I flipped through the last twelve months of Chuck’s business statements. “Then he started bringing in some good money.”
“That’s right. I think it’s possible he was involved with Guthrie’s smuggling operation. I can’t prove it. Maybe he crossed some line with Guthrie and he was killed. All of this is speculation. Agent Kowalski says my theory is too unlikely to be worth pursuing. But Chuck got that money somehow. I keep hoping we can make sense of it all and find his killer, before it’s too late for that little girl.”
I gave him back the statements. “I might have a way to connect Guthrie to Betsy. I don’t know yet. I’m working on it.”
The chief stood abruptly. I was afraid he was going to jump right over the desk. “Don’t mess around with this, Dae O’Donnell. Do you hear me? That’s my only warning to you. I’m going to pick up the phone and call Horace as soon as you leave. These are professional killers we’re talking about. That pretty smile of yours and a whole batch of your grandfather’s fish stew won’t keep you alive if you meet up with him. You go and tend to your store. We’ll find Chuck’s killer and his little girl. Leave this to the professionals for once.”
He glowered at me. He was more serious than usual about warning me away. I didn’t smile or make fun of his demand as I might have done at another time. “I’ll stay out of it,” I told him. “You don’t have to call Gramps.”
He sat down again. “Good. Now go and check on that nice lady. You were right to offer her some hospitality. I’m sorry I didn’t notice it sooner. I’ll be by the Blue Whale later to check on her myself.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
I didn’t smile when I left. But I knew I was lying when I promised to stay out of it. Until Betsy was found, I was involved.
I caught a ride back to my house but didn’t stay long. I decided to head over to Chuck’s house again. I wanted to make sure Betsy was still alive. Despite Ann’s disparaging remarks about my abilities, I really believed that if I could contact the girl again, I would know if she was dead or alive.
Since the police had taken her doll away from me, I needed something else that would give me the same connection. It might not reassure anyone else, but I’d feel better.
Crime scene tape stretched across every entrance to the house, but the back door wasn’t locked. Seeing all that tape reminded me of the time I’d gotten hold of Gramps’s crime scene tape and wrapped it across every doorway and around every piece of furniture in our house. That adventure had ended badly for me, despite the initial fun. Gramps was fair, but he was strict.
After ducking under the tape, I entered through the back door and walked through the house, ignoring the mess this time. The police and FBI had made it even worse. I tried not to look too long at Chuck’s personal items strewn about. I didn’t want him showing up dead again.
I let my instinct guide me to a pink teddy bear with a black bow tie that I found outside Betsy’s room. Half of his body was torn away (what kind of person does something like that?), but I could feel her on him. It was a strong connection. I knew she loved him and had frequently held him close.
I sat down on her small bed and clutche
d the bear tightly to me. Instantly a deep, bitter cold swept through me. I heard the sound of water dripping again—and Betsy’s voice.
“Please. If you let me out, I’ll be very good. I won’t say a word. Please don’t leave me here alone again.”
A voice said something in return, but it was muffled, incoherent. I couldn’t tell whether a man or a woman had spoken.
“No! Please don’t leave. I can be good.”
But despite her appeals to the visitor I couldn’t see or understand, she was left alone. There was another sound—wood against wood? A tree branch scraping? I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was just a door closing.
Betsy was crying. I tried to find her in the dark but couldn’t. I called her name, but this time, it seemed she couldn’t hear me. The only thing I could do, until this vision came to an end, was focus on the area around me.
The floor wasn’t smooth and even, like concrete. It was bumpy. There were patches where something was sticking up. It wasn’t sand, as it had appeared in the other vision. I reached out to try and touch the walls. They were rough, with what felt like gaping holes. Not large enough for a child to climb through, but openings nonetheless.
I reached my palms against the flat ceiling above me. It was just inches above my head. It was rough too, with a few holes in it. These were jagged, not like they had been cut, but gouged.
There was a distinct smell of old wood and the ocean. It was very strong—maybe on the beach?
The vision was over as suddenly as it had begun. I was sitting on the bed again with the ripped-up pink teddy bear. Beside me was dead Chuck. I jumped up and ran to the door.
“Help her,” he said again.
I left the bedroom. I had nothing to say to him. I was doing the best I could. But wherever Guthrie had Betsy stashed, it wasn’t easy to define or locate.
I knew Betsy was still alive, though. Let Ann think she was dead, if she wanted. I knew better. What I didn’t know was what to do with that information. I didn’t want to hurt the investigation by trying to find her myself, but I’d brought some good leads to the table. I knew I could be of use.
The chief was worried that the FBI would pull out. I couldn’t be sure Betsy was in Duck either, as he’d said. We didn’t have the resources to go all over the Outer Banks looking for her. It was hard to decide what to do.
Kevin, even working with Ann, might still be my best shot, although I wished that wasn’t the case.
I wondered again why Guthrie was keeping the girl alive. He hadn’t asked for anything in return—didn’t seem to plan on giving her back. But what was he planning?
Maybe if I could figure out why Dillon Guthrie had killed Chuck, I might gain some insight into why he’d taken and was still holding Betsy. It seemed like the best way to start that process would be to break in on Port’s dinner with Trudy. Whether he realized it or not (and I hoped he didn’t), Port was involved with what had happened to Chuck and his daughter.
Three might not be company, but it might help find Chuck’s killer.
Chapter 18
I’d seen enough murder mysteries on TV and heard enough stories from Gramps that I thought I understood how the connection between Chuck and Guthrie had originated.
Chuck’s bank statement showed that he was getting extra money from somewhere. Guthrie was a smuggler—it stood to reason that Chuck was working for him.
Chuck was under a lot of financial stress. His ex-wife was between jobs. He had to take care of Betsy by himself. His business was already failing after a terrible real estate scandal that had driven most local people away. He needed money like never before and was desperate enough to consider doing something illegal.
But something had gone wrong between Chuck and Guthrie, as happens many times in this type of relationship. Guthrie had killed Chuck. I had no doubt about that—despite Guthrie’s top-dog status, which seemed to make the FBI afraid to question him. Then Guthrie had taken Betsy.
How is Port involved?
That was the part I couldn’t figure. I’d have to spend more time with Port if I was going to answer that question. A handshake wasn’t going to do it. I needed prolonged contact with him or to hold something that belonged to him. I had no idea how I was going to manage either one.
I took Betsy’s teddy bear with me, hiding it in a paper bag in case I ran into some law enforcement official ready to accuse me of taking things from the scene of a crime.
I also picked up Chuck’s electric razor—my hand protected by a glove I’d begun carrying around in my pocketbook. The razor would be close and personal to him. I might need that too if contact with Port didn’t work out.
Beyond my not-well-thought-out plan to glean information from Port, I was as clueless as the FBI. Why would a big-name smuggler who had killers on his staff (I felt sure I’d seen them in my dream) kill a lowly real estate broker?
It seemed to me—à la Law & Order—that Guthrie’s hands-on involvement indicated a personal motivation. Maybe it’d had nothing to do with business. Or maybe Guthrie had wanted to make an example of Chuck.
Betsy?
If she was with Chuck when he was killed, why wouldn’t Guthrie kill her too? That would make sense. Hanging on to her was stupid and dangerous for him. What if someone found her?
But maybe Guthrie didn’t kill children. Maybe he’d assigned one of his henchmen but the henchman couldn’t kill her. Maybe the henchman was like the huntsman in Snow White who couldn’t kill the pretty princess and instead had let her run away. In Betsy’s case, though, maybe the henchman had put Betsy someplace he felt she would be safe until he had a chance to let her go.
I didn’t dare express this theory to anyone else. I knew I’d be laughed into next week as soon as I mentioned Snow White. I knew it didn’t really make traditional police sense, but it was all I had—at least until I could get more (hopefully) from Port.
I walked the rest of the way back to my house with my purloined items safely tucked away. No one had tried to stop me or even noticed what I was doing. The FBI probably felt they’d gotten all the evidence they could from Chuck’s house.
Lucky for me. I really wasn’t up for another visit to the police station.
Just as I reached my house, Kevin’s pickup pulled next to me. “I’ve been calling you for a while. Where have you been?”
“Just out walking. I needed some space.”
“Betsy’s mother wants to talk to you. She trusts you. There might be something everyone else is missing that she could show you.”
I glanced at my watch. I had plenty of time to interrupt Trudy and Port’s dinner. Maybe talking to Melinda would help. “Okay. Let me put this in the house. I’ll be right out.”
As I walked away from the pickup, something caught my eye. It was as though a beam of sunlight was shining through a crack in the clouds, illuminating something unusual in Old Man Sweeney’s driveway.
Like a magpie, I couldn’t resist it. I had to see what it was. Probably nothing. A piece of gum wrapper or a dropped coin. But it felt like something important.
It was a matchbook—wet from the rain and slightly mangled. The name on the cover was “Sailor’s Dream,” the little bar and grill near the beach where my father worked. There was a bit of blue glitter on it.
I couldn’t be sure, but I doubted Old Man Sweeney frequented the place. As soon as I picked up the matchbook, I knew how it had come to be here.
Derek Johnson had dropped it in the driveway, probably when he was being arrested. The matchbook also revealed that Derek spent a lot of time at Sailor’s Dream—waiting to meet with Guthrie.
“What is it, Dae?” Kevin joined me in the driveway. “What did you find?”
I showed him. “Derek Johnson had it when he was arrested trying to reclaim Chuck’s medallion from Old Man Sweeney. That’s where this all started for me. When I touched the matchbook, I saw Derek waiting at Sailor’s Dream for Guthrie.”
“Dae—”
“What? We all know Johnson d
idn’t just see the sign for the medallion and decide to retrieve his lost property. He didn’t kill Chuck—that was Guthrie—whether the FBI believes it or not. Derek was probably just covering for Guthrie. They meet at the Sailor’s Dream. He works for him. If I go to Sailor’s Dream, maybe I can pick up on something else.”
“You can’t go alone,” he said. “These men are killers. You shouldn’t be there at all, but if you have to go, I’m going too.”
“You can’t go with me.” I pocketed the matchbook as I dismissed the idea. “They would know you were a Fed a mile away.”
“I’m not a Fed anymore.” He laughed. “And you watch too many crime shows on TV. I can blend in as well as you can. Neither one of us needs any excuse to be there. Danny is your father and my friend.”
I considered his suggestion. He was right, of course. I’d probably feel safer being there with Kevin, whether I was or not.
“All right. We’ll go tonight. I want to talk to Melinda first, and then I have to meet a few friends at Wild Stallions. I’ll give you a call.”
I ran inside to put down the razor and the bear I’d taken from Chuck’s house. Actually, I hid them under my bed. I didn’t want to take any chances.
The black kitten started purring as soon as he saw me. He sat down on my foot, staring up at me in a dreamy way. Since I’d never had a pet, I wasn’t sure what to expect from one. I picked him up, and he snuggled into my hand. An incredible feeling of joy radiated from him.
“I bet you need some food,” I said to him. I brought him up close to my face and was lost in his bright eyes. “I don’t think there’s any cat food yet, but I’ll see what I can find.”
Gramps surprised me again by having cat food and a bowl in the kitchen for him. I put some food down, and the kitten jumped on it. Apparently Gramps had undergone a major change of heart while I’d been out and had decided the kitten was welcome after all.
I scratched the kitten behind one ear. “I guess Gramps likes you. That’s a good thing because you aren’t going anywhere else, are you?”
