Twelve-Gauge Guardian

by B. J Daniels

  It was the party hats that had clued her into the fact that her grandchildren had been in this room the day of Trace’s murder. Trace, her youngest, her most precious, her favorite. He had died on that far ridge the day of his birthday.

  Pepper blamed herself, this house, this life, her long-dead husband, Call. Trace’s alleged killer was dead. But in her heart she believed that her son’s true killer remained free and unknown. At least for the time being.

  At the sound of a car engine, she turned to see lights coming up the narrow ranch road. Brand. She hadn’t seen her son for twenty-seven years, had yet to speak to him since the day she’d sent him away and all the others when Trace hadn’t shown for his birthday party.

  She knew her children had reason to hate her. She’d taken away their birthright: Winchester Ranch.

  But that was the least of what she’d deprived them of over their lives.

  In the last of the day’s light, she fumbled for the elevator button. The door opened, she shoved aside the gate and stepped into an even smaller space. Heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps, she descended to the ground floor and hurriedly got out, her cane tapping on the wood floor.

  She knew the kind of reception she would get from her son Brand. Like his son Cordell, he hated her, blamed her, wanted nothing to do with her.

  Pepper had only one hope as she hurried to greet him. Out of her five children, she hoped Brand wasn’t the one who’d betrayed his brother.

  “I HAVE TO GO DOWN THERE,” Raine said as she took a step down the stairs.

  Cordell heard both pleading and determination in her tone. The message was clear: Please don’t try to stop me. He doubted he could even if he tried.

  He shone his flashlight into the cold damp darkness below the house and cringed. He wouldn’t have kept a dog down there, let alone a child.

  He’d done his best not to imagine where Lara English was being held. But seeing this partial basement, which in truth was nothing more than a crawl space, he could imagine the horrible place that little girl was in right now. Alone? Or were they with her?

  He shuddered at the thought and followed on Raine’s heels into the pit below.

  She stopped suddenly, the beam of her flashlight flickering over a pile of old lumber. Raine played the light over the boards, then the wooden slats of the wall behind it. Cordell kept his flashlight pointed at his feet, trying to stay out of her way. He didn’t doubt that this was something she needed to do. He couldn’t imagine what thoughts and emotions were going through her head right now.

  Suddenly she seemed to sway on her feet. He reached for her and saw in the ambient glow of their flashlights that her eyes were as vacant as this old house.

  “Raine?” He couldn’t help the fear that gripped him. “Raine?”

  She didn’t answer, but blinked and her face contorted in a mask of pain. Dear God, she was reliving what had happened to her down here.

  “Raine!” He grabbed her arm and shook her. Her eyes fluttered and he watched as she fought her way to the surface, gasping for breath, a high keening sound coming from her lips.

  He could see the memories trying to pull her back under, a riptide wanting to take her, drown her.

  He dragged her into his arms, holding her, saying her name over and over. “Raine. Raine.” But he feared she was Emily Frank again and there was no bringing her back.

  A few moments later she surfaced and seemed surprised to find herself in his arms. “What happened?”

  Cordell shook his head. He didn’t have a clue.

  She closed her eyes and for a moment, he thought he’d lost her again.

  “I remember,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I wasn’t molested. Only because I fought back. Only because I would have preferred to die than let that man touch me again.” Her eyes opened and he’d never been so relieved to see that sea of clear blue. “I bit him. Cordell, are you listening to me? I bit the man who abducted me. I bit his left hand so hard there is no way I didn’t leave a scar.”

  He was too busy thinking how relieved he was that she was her old self again.

  The realization of what she was saying finally sank in. A scar. It might be a way to identify the man. If they ever got that close to him.

  Raine stepped toward the wall behind the small pile of old lumber. Her flashlight beam scoured the boards, then froze on a spot.

  He stepped closer.

  It had been sixteen years so the letters scratched in the wall were almost too faint to read. When he did make them out, he wished he hadn’t. His insides seemed to liquefy and he knew he would remember those words until the day he died.

  There carved in the wood was, Emily Frank died here.

  Chapter Nine

  Emily Frank’s former foster family was just finishing dinner. The night breeze carried the scent of boiled chicken and root vegetables.

  Cordell noticed that Raine seemed to hang back as they neared the large rambling farmhouse even though he doubted the couple would recognize her—not after sixteen years. Also she’d changed her appearance from the blonde little girl they would remember, having dyed her hair dark.

  The only thing about her that was recognizable from the girl she’d been was her eyes. They were that incredible sky-blue, so clear they seemed infinite. He’d gotten lost in them enough to know just how unforgettable they were.

  He could tell she was nervous about seeing her former foster parents again even though she’d spent only one night there. He knew she feared they might have been in on the abduction.

  “The abduction was planned. It wasn’t spur-of-the-moment,” she’d told him on the way to town. “The couple who took me knew who I was. That means they’d known the Ambersons were getting a foster child.”

  “And not just any foster child,” Cordell had said. “One who’d run away from the past two homes she’d been placed in.”

  Raine had looked over at him as if impressed that he was beginning to understand how this had gone down. Either that or she was wondering why it had taken him so long to figure things out.

  “You all right?” he asked now. They’d parked down the road from the house, deciding to walk up the narrow lane that ended at the front door. Cordell had thought it would be easier on Raine.

  The question seemed to jerk her out of her thoughts, her gaze going to the house’s second story where a pink curtain billowed out the open window on the breeze.

  “I was just wondering what makes people become foster parents,” she said.

  A love for children would have been his first guess—at least before he’d met Raine. A more cynical answer would be the money, though he couldn’t imagine that foster parents were paid enough per child to make it worthwhile taking on children who often had problems—and were a problem.

  “I would imagine there are some who are wonderful and feel they are called to do this,” he said.

  She nodded and gave him a wry smile. “I’d just like to know who called the Ambersons,” she said under her breath.

  As they neared, the screen door swung open and a man stepped out onto the large porch. He smiled in greeting, squinting a little as he studied first Cordell and then Raine as if he thought he should know them. That was the thing about Whitehorse. Most everyone did know each other.

  His eyes seemed to narrow before his gaze returned to Cordell.

  “Good evening. Can I help you?” he asked. He had a deep, rich voice. His hands were large and callused and he looked strong and solid. A man who did physical labor, Cordell guessed.

  “Abel Amberson?” The serious man was in his late fifties, graying at the temples, lines around his eyes and mouth more from being out in the sun than from laughing, Cordell thought.

  Abel gave a slight nod, looking instantly wary.

  “I’m Cordell Winchester. This is Raine Chandler. We’re here about one of your former foster children.”

  The man arched a brow. “You aren’t with Social Services.”

  “No. We’re looking
into the disappearance of Emily Frank,” Cordell said.

  “Emily?” he repeated, clearly taken aback.

  “We hoped we could ask you some questions. I’m sure the local sheriff will be speaking with you as well about the latest abduction.”

  “Latest abduction?” asked a woman coming through the screen door. Grace Amberson was a small woman with a kind face and eyes. “Why would you be questioning us? She’s not our foster child.”

  “No, but Emily Frank was,” Raine said.

  The woman’s gaze swung to Raine and held there long enough Cordell thought she might have recognized her. “Emily wasn’t abducted,” Grace said. “She ran away.”

  “A child molester now serving time in prison confessed to taking Emily Frank,” Cordell said.

  Grace Amberson clasped both hands as she cried, “Emily wasn’t taken by a child molester. What are these people talking about, Abel?” Her voice broke and tears welled in her eyes.

  “The man’s name is Orville Cline,” Raine said.

  “Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

  Cordell knew she was watching for a reaction. She must have been disappointed.

  “Who?” Abel asked. His wife showed no sign of recognition, either.

  “Orville Cline. He confessed to abducting and killing Emily Frank.”

  “No, that’s not possible,” Grace cried, her voice filled with horror.

  “Why don’t you let me take care of this, Grace,” her husband said quietly. Behind them a half-dozen children from about five to thirteen peered out from the screen.

  “Take the children in and give them some ice cream.

  I’ll be in shortly.”

  “I’m sorry if we upset you,” Raine said to Grace and smiled through the screen at the children. “Would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

  Cordell could see that the woman wanted to say no but it wasn’t in her nature.

  “Of course.” Grace held the door open behind her as Raine entered.

  “I think you’d better show me some identification,” Abel said the moment the women were gone. “You’ve upset my wife.”

  Cordell took his driver’s license and P.I. license from his wallet and handed it to the man. “We’re investigating the Emily Frank case for a client. Ms. Chandler and I are both private investigators.”

  Abel Amberson’s eyes widened in surprise as he handed back the licenses. “This comes as a terrible shock. We were told she ran away.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Social Services and the sheriff at the time. She’d run away from two other foster homes. Was she really taken by this man?”

  “According to him. His confession is very…detailed,” Cordell said, putting his ID away and pocketing his wallet.

  “Is that what they think happened to this other girl, Lara English?” Abel looked stricken. He glanced back toward his house as if worried about his family inside it. “Why hasn’t someone warned us?”

  Cordell shook his head. Probably because the local news media hadn’t picked up on it. Emily Frank’s abduction was one of a dozen crimes Orville had admitted to committing. Cordell wondered how many more the man had lied about.

  The screen opened and Raine came out. She looked pale. “Ready?”

  He nodded. “Well, thank you, Mr. Amberson, for your time.” He held out his hand and Abel shook it. “If you think of anything that might help.” Cordell handed him his business card. “My cell phone number is on the back.”

  As he and Raine walked down the narrow road to where they’d parked the pickup, Cordell could feel the tension coming off her like a live wire.

  “Abel Amberson didn’t have a scar on his left hand,” he said once they were out of earshot.

  “No, but I found something in the house,” she said. “I was admiring the children’s drawings tacked on the refrigerator when I saw an invitation to the Whitehorse Summer Gala. Apparently it is invitation only. That means only the cream of Whitehorse crop will be there tomorrow night.”

  Raine looked over at him as they reached the truck. “And care to guess who the guests of honor are this year? Abel and Ruth Amberson for their years of foster care. Do you think your grandmother can get us an invitation?”

  FROM THE WINDOW, Pepper saw not just one son, but two climb from the car in front of the lodge. Both men were tall and handsome like their father.

  Brand glanced toward the window where she stood and she braced herself. From his expression this was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

  She shifted her gaze to her older son Worth, or Worthless, as Call had called him. It surprised her how old he looked. Both of her sons were in their fifties.

  That was hard for her to accept, that, like her, they had aged. She remembered them as being strong and determined, wild as this land. She could see them riding across the ranch, young and free.

  Guilt wedged itself into her heart as sharp and painful as a knife blade. What had she done to them? Turned them out, took away what they thought was their legacy: the Winchester Ranch.

  Pepper straightened, setting her expression as she headed for the front door leaning more heavily than usual on her cane. Facing her sons would be harder than anything she’d ever done, she realized.

  If only she was the cold, uncaring bitch they thought she was. It would make this so much easier.

  As she reached the top of the stairs, she saw Virginia go to the door. She could tell by the set of her daughter’s shoulders that she thought Brand and Worth were only here for the money, money she felt was owed to her.

  Her old maid daughter, her oldest child and only girl, wore her bitterness like a shroud. That, too, Pepper thought, was her fault. Was it fear that made Virginia so greedy? Or did she really not care for anyone but herself?

  Maybe she thought that with the Winchester fortune she wouldn’t feel so alone. Of course, she was wrong. Her mother could attest to that.

  At the door, Virginia gave her brothers awkward hugs, then the three of them turned and looked up the stairs as if they’d sensed their mother watching them.

  Pepper put steel in her back as she slowly descended the stairs. She could feel their gazes riveted on her, each of them wondering just how frail and close to death she was.

  She kept her chin up. She wouldn’t let them see the mountain of regret that lay on her chest, making it nearly impossible to draw a breath.

  “Mother,” Brand said.

  “Brand,” she said with a nod. “Worth.” Her oldest son didn’t meet her gaze. Up close he looked even older and in poor health. It broke her heart.

  “Any news on Cyrus?” Pepper asked of her grandson.

  “The same,” Brand said, the pain evident in his expression. He glanced around the lodge. “The place hasn’t changed.” His gaze settled on her again. “Neither have you.” He didn’t make that sound like a good thing.

  Enid appeared, giving them all a start and making Brand smile to himself.

  “I suppose you want me to show them to their rooms,” Enid said.

  “I can do it.” Virginia took hold of Brand’s arm. “But maybe Enid could get them something to drink before dinner.”

  Enid shot Pepper a look that said she didn’t take orders from Virginia especially with Virginia talking as if she wasn’t even in the room.

  “I think that is a wonderful idea, Virginia. I’ll help Enid and meet you all back down here in the parlor before dinner.”

  Enid turned on her heel and with a huff took off for the kitchen.

  “She really hasn’t changed,” Brand said, sounding amused.

  Virginia snorted. “I don’t know why you haven’t fired her a long time ago, Mother.”

  Pepper watched the housekeeper disappear down the hall. “Oh, I suspect Enid will die here.”

  Virginia led her brothers up the stairs and Pepper listened to the three of them whispering among themselves, joining ranks against the enemy. And she knew only too well who the enemy was.

  CORDELL
DIDN’T HAVE TO CALL his grandmother about tickets to the gala.

  When Raine checked her cell phone as they left the Ambersons, there was a message from Marias that her CBA had sent her something.

  Raine felt her stomach drop. “What now?”

  “The message I got was that there will be two tickets for you at the door with your name on them for the Whitehorse Summer Gala. You’ve been invited to some exclusive party.”

  “What is it?” Cordell whispered, no doubt seeing Raine’s expression.

  “Apparently we’re going to the dance,” she said. “My benefactor left us tickets at the door. Anything else?” she asked Marias.

  “Not that you want to hear,” her friend and partner said. “I just keep wondering who’s pulling your chain and why.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. Maybe they just want to see if I can dance.”

  Marias laughed. “Aren’t they in for a thrill.”

  Raine hung up and looked over at Cordell. “What?” she asked, seeing his frown.

  “At least if they’re at the dance, then Lara is safe,” he said.

  She certainly hoped so. It felt as if time was running out. The last thing she wanted to be doing was going to some socialite dance in this wide spot in the road of a town while knowing Lara English was out there somewhere, scared and alone.

  But she had to hold fast to her theory that the CBA wanted the truth to come out. As hard as it was for her to believe it was the same woman who’d kicked her over to the side of the floorboard as she’d gotten into the car sixteen years ago. The same woman who’d helped her husband abduct that terrified ten-year-old.

  Suddenly a set of headlights flashed on. The next moment Raine heard the roar of an engine as what appeared to be a large truck ran right at them.

  She saw Cordell swerve, the truck missing them by only inches as it sped past, and they crashed into the bushes at the edge of the road, breaking through and dropping down a small hill to come to an abrupt stop just feet from a narrow creek and in a stand of cottonwoods.