‘What first guy?’ Kit asked.
He studied her, then Virgie. ‘Someone else asking about Farley. Yesterday, I think.’
‘A man?’ Kit asked.
He nodded. ‘Black guy,’ he said. ‘Tall. Walks kind of funny, like he’s got a limp or something.’
SEVENTEEN
‘John Paul!’ Virgie said after they were outside again. ‘Have you heard anything from him?’
‘Not a word,’ Kit told her. ‘But he’s going to hear from me.’
Still outside the car, she phoned him. When he answered, she said, ‘I know you’re here.’
‘It’s good to hear from you too.’ He chuckled. ‘Seriously, I was going to call you.’
‘Right.’
‘Where are you?’ His tone went straight to cop voice. ‘I want you to help me find something.’
His silver pickup pulled into the parking lot several minutes later. Only then did Virgie agree to return to their room. Before he could get out of the truck, Kit opened the door and climbed in beside him.
‘Good to see you,’ he said.
In spite of the new-looking gray sweater, which with its zipper at the neck was too dressy for the area, his usually perfect boots were scruffy, which probably meant he had been here a while. The citrus scent of the truck felt warm and familiar. They were a good team, and together they could find out what happened to Farley faster than either of them could alone.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were here?’ she said.
‘I intended to.’
‘When? How long have you been in town?’
‘Hey.’ He let the truck continue idling as they sat there overlooking the creek. ‘I told you how I felt about you getting involved in anything so soon.’
The soothing sound of the water failed to ease her mood.
‘And I told you I’m good at finding missing people.’
‘So am I,’ he said, ‘and I guess we both proved it. We ended up in the same place.’
He wanted something – probably to know what she’d found out. ‘I told you before,’ she said, ‘I’m willing to work with you.’
He stretched his arm across the seat and began to pull out of the parking place. ‘Farley played in that pub Friday night.’
‘I know that.’ He was just placating her. ‘What else have you found out?’ she asked.
‘That his buddy Jonas isn’t all that cooperative.’
She wasn’t about to share any information about Jonas until she knew John Paul was willing to share what he had found out.
‘How’d you get this far?’ she asked.
He glanced over at her as if trying to make up his mind. ‘His phone. It’s dead now, but we were able to locate the general area.’
‘Where is it?’ she asked. ‘Have you found Farley’s phone?’
‘Not yet, but we’re close. I thought you might want to come along and help me look.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Because you’re safer with me than on your own.’
‘So you knew I was here?’
‘I only just found out. An old guy named Nickel at the place Farley always stored his car said there had been two women there asking a lot of questions.’ He flashed her a straight-lipped smile. ‘He gave a pretty vivid description.’
She felt herself flush. ‘Meaning?’
‘Basically that an attractive woman with curly hair was looking for the guy with the Corvette. That’s not exactly how he put it, but I knew he was talking about you.’
‘Well, I hope you got more out of him than I did.’ She refused to let him distract her.
‘Just that Farley left here on Friday night, heading north.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Not sure.’ He pulled the truck onto the freeway. ‘His response seemed a little pat. Besides, if Farley were leaving, why wouldn’t he take his phone with him?’
‘And why wouldn’t he be in touch with one of us?’ So that’s where this was heading. John Paul was asking without asking. ‘I haven’t heard from him,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you about that.’
‘What would you lie to me about?’
‘Nothing that important,’ she shot back. ‘What about you?’
‘Hey,’ he said again, and this time his voice was soft. ‘We both want the same thing. Let’s not argue.’
They wouldn’t have to if she could trust him, but there was no point getting into that right now. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘And John Paul, I’m glad you’re here.’
They drove without speaking for a moment. He glanced down at the paper on the seat beside him and took a right off the highway. At the stop sign, he looked at her, and the thin moonlight coming into the car made his light brown eyes seem to shine. ‘I’m glad I’m here too. And I’m glad you’re with me.’
In the darkness, the winding road seemed endless and steep. Kit turned to him, so that she wouldn’t have to look the other direction.
‘Do you know where we’re going?’ she asked.
‘Not exactly. We probably ought to come back tomorrow. I just wanted to get a look at the general area.’
‘I don’t think there’s much out here,’ she said.
‘The school’s a few miles from here. I thought the phone might be there but I couldn’t find anything on the grounds.’
‘Jonas isn’t about to let you look around,’ she said. His voice and the scent of the truck calmed her in spite of the blinding headlights coming down the hill. ‘I’ve heard this isn’t the safest at night.’
‘Who told you that?’
Then Kit remembered. ‘There’s a berry stand somewhere over there. One of those little library structures, only they sell jam, jelly and herbs.’
‘I think we passed something like that,’ he said. ‘I saw it earlier today when I was looking around.’
So he had already been here once today.
Kit’s heart hammered and not because of the narrow road or the other car lights. Megan’s hand had been stamped at the Gas Lamp. Megan was close to Jonas. Farley’s phone was somewhere in this area.
‘Let’s search the stand,’ she said.
‘It’s closed.’
‘It never closes. They leave a jar there for donations.’
John Paul shook his head. Kit dug her fingers into her palms.
He turned around and the primitive wood sign appeared again.
‘It’s right ahead,’ she said.
He pulled the truck in front of the stand and turned the lights off. ‘You stay here,’ he told her.
‘John Paul!’ She grabbed the door handle. ‘I thought you didn’t want to argue.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Got it.’
Together they approached the darkened stand. The air had calmed, quieted down and felt warmer.
Leaves rustled and John Paul drew closer to her.
On the counter, a large, clear mason jar like one that might be used for lemonade held coins and several dollar bills.
‘I’ll be,’ he said. ‘The honor system is alive and well.’
Lights approached and a vehicle slowed. Too late to hide, Kit thought.
The passenger window went down and a man called out, ‘Need any help?’
‘No, thanks,’ John Paul said. ‘We’re just leaving.’
‘OK,’ the man replied, and the car took off down the hill.
‘We’d better hurry,’ Kit told him and squinted into the darkness. ‘Do you have a flashlight?’
‘Don’t move.’ John Paul ran back to the truck and returned with one. ‘I’m going to look in the bushes outside.’
‘I’ll go through the jars and supplies.’ Kit lifted the stack of dried herbs and breathed in the scent of lavender, basil and something sharper … fennel, maybe.
As she shoved her fingers under jars and boxes, she remembered the mark on Megan’s hand once more – the stamp from the pub. She stopped and tried to visualize Megan when they had met the day before, her long skirt and those little boots with the buttons on
the side. Priscilla, the pregnant woman, gave her the jam, while Megan, her long, dark hair in a ponytail, shoved a large cardboard box onto a middle shelf. Kit walked around and stared at the shelf. The box was there where Megan had put it, but she must have been on a stepstool in order to do so. The shelf was too high to reach. Kit climbed onto a bottom shelf, reached up and tugged at the box.
Headlights flashed and a car seemed to slow as it passed. She tugged harder. The box inched toward her. She yanked and it fell into her arms, against her chest. Kit gasped and held on tightly as she tried to keep from falling off the bottom shelf.
‘What the hell?’ John Paul grabbed her by the waist and steadied her against him. The flashlight lay on the ground where he had dropped it. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to help you?’
‘A car.’ Kit pointed into the night. ‘I was trying to hurry.’
Together, they set the box on the counter. The smell of shredded newspapers stung Kit’s nostrils.
‘Jars,’ John Paul said. ‘Empty jars.’
‘Right. Two layers of them.’ Kit slid her hands down the side of the box, remembering how Megan’s movements had seemed odd to her at the time. ‘Why would they need to keep the empty jars here when this isn’t where they make the jam?’
Glass pressed against her fingers and she turned the box upside down. The bottom had been covered with masking tape. John Paul reached for his pocketknife and cut through it. Together, they pulled open the cardboard flaps. On the inside of one of them, covered in tape, was a rectangular object.
‘We’ve found it,’ Kit said, her voice shaking.
John Paul expertly cut through the tape. With the tip of the knife, he nudged the phone out. ‘We sure have.’ He grinned at her in the moonlight. ‘Now we just have to get it charged.’
EIGHTEEN
Chopin was playing again, and to Jonas the music sounded like a warning.
If Megan were as free as he was, he wouldn’t even be here with this woman. But Megan was with Will and would be until she had the courage to leave, if she ever did.
He lifted his glass. It had been a fine evening so far but he was getting tired of her questions. When she had knocked at his door he should have directed her back to town. But he was a sucker for blondes. Megan was the only brunette he had fallen for in a very long time.
Now, he knew this woman had set him up. She was some kind of crime writer like Kit Doyle, maybe even working with her. He liked that she sat across from him wearing nothing at all but that soft knit cap on her head. There was a freedom in her attitude that he admired. Still, he knew that he couldn’t give her what she had come here for and he had better think about showing her to the door.
‘More port before you go?’ he asked.
‘Maybe later.’ She crossed her legs and Jonas nearly fell out of his chair. ‘You wouldn’t have a beer, would you?’
‘I don’t think so, although there might be a pilsner in the refrigerator.’ He forced himself to get up and walk over there.
Perhaps he should just go with it, reporter or not. He wouldn’t have to tell her anything he didn’t want to. All of her questions had been general, about the school, about why he had stopped teaching so early in a brilliant career. He opened the refrigerator door and a stream of cold air hit him on the bare chest.
‘No pilsner,’ he said, ‘but there is a local craft beer in here. Would that do?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
He poured it into a mug he found in the freezer, handed it to her and went back to his chair. ‘Like it?’ he asked as she took the first swallow.
‘Not bad.’ She put it on the table beside her chair and grimaced.
Jonas looked at the inch of port remaining in his glass.
‘Could I ask you something?’ she said.
‘You’ve been asking me all night, so, if you don’t mind, let’s just keep it easy between us. I’ll pretend you really lost your way and you can pretend you didn’t come here looking for me.’
‘Very good.’ She got up, walked behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders while the leaping, almost human images created by the flames from the woodstove painted the walls orange. ‘You saw right through me, didn’t you?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite that way.’
‘You can at least tell me you know where Farley Black is, even if that is all you can say.’
So that’s what this was all about.
‘I don’t know where he is,’ Jonas said.
‘What if I don’t believe you?’ Her hands slid down the sides of his body, tickling his ribs and arousing him again.
‘Hey,’ he said and grabbed both of her hands in his. ‘I’d better send you away before you become a very bad habit.’
He didn’t bother to close the curtains, didn’t bother to herd her into the bedroom. On the rug in front of the woodstove, he didn’t think about anything until later. Then he realized the window was not only open but blowing cold air into the room.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘I thought you said you like the window open.’
‘It’s too cold.’ That was a lie. The air was as invigorating as ever. But they were naked and exposed. He was.
Jonas got up, pulled on his shorts and shirt and, still buttoning it, went to the window. As he stared outside and reached for the curtains he saw a figure – a person – rush from his view into the trees.
‘Now what?’ She sat up from the pile of tangled covers on the floor.
‘Nothing.’ He snapped the curtains shut.
Someone had been out there, watching them. If he needed to use the gun, he would.
‘Are you sure? You look worried.’
‘Not at all,’ he said and sat down beside her.
The heat of the fire warmed his back. When she finally said, ‘I need to get going,’ relief flooded through him as strongly as passion had earlier.
‘Of course.’
Jonas put on his jacket and walked her outside. Never again, he told himself. He should have learned his lesson by now.
He thought of Megan again, felt guilty and reminded himself once more that Megan and he were only trusted friends so far. How trusted was still up to Megan.
‘You can stay here if you need to,’ he said, not because he wanted her to but because he didn’t need any more guilt in his life.
‘I’ll be fine.’ She brushed her lips over his. ‘And now I really do need to go.’
‘Before you do, would you tell me why you really came here today?’
‘I’m a crime blogger.’ The gleaming smile that had stunned him earlier now looked almost predatory. ‘And as you may have guessed, I’m trying to find out what happened to Farley Black. I know he disappeared out here somewhere.’
‘I wish I could have helped you.’ He took both of her hands in his. ‘I’d like to keep in touch, though.’
‘Let’s leave the lies right here.’ She squeezed his fingers. ‘You know that can’t happen.’
‘At least tell me your name,’ he said. ‘You certainly know a great deal about me.’
Her smile relaxed and she looked into his eyes. ‘Was I that obvious?’
‘Not really. I’d just like to know the name of the woman I spent such an amazing evening with. It will make it more real when I think about you.’
‘My name is Kit,’ she said. ‘Kit Doyle. Farley’s my friend.’
‘I hope you find him.’ He could barely find his voice.
Jonas watched her van pull out of the driveway and kept watching until it disappeared into the night.
So he had two Kit Doyles looking for Farley. And the woman he had just spent the evening with was not the real one.
As they waited for Farley’s phone to charge, Kit and John Paul sat in the parking lot of the motel so as not to disturb Virgie, who was probably sleeping inside. As they talked, John Paul seemed to relax the by-the-book approach he used as a wall between him and anything he felt threatened by – including her at times. After the nig
htmare she had barely survived, they had grown close. But it was too soon after her best friend’s death, too soon after her divorce, and she had stepped back. In spite of everything she loved about John Paul, she hadn’t regained enough of herself to give anything to anyone else. He hadn’t pressed, and that allowed them to remain friends.
‘Why would Megan hide Farley’s phone?’ she asked him.
‘Some kind of guilt. Could be anything. Once it’s charged I need to take it to the local police.’
‘Once we go through it,’ she said.
‘Which we can do right away. After that you need to head back home. I promise you I’ll keep looking for Farley.’
‘You’re talking like a cop again,’ she told him.
‘I am a cop, regardless of my official status.’ He lowered his window and let the cool air come inside. ‘That’s the major problem you and I have.’
‘How’s that?’
‘You’ve got to know what I’m talking about.’ He glanced down at the phone between them while stretching his right arm over her seat. ‘Before you think I’m a total jerk for asking you to go home, remember that I was law enforcement before I was anything. Remember that you and I didn’t start off as friends.’
‘And now?’ Kit looked into his eyes.
‘I’m no more certain about that than you are.’
As they sat there in his truck, moving closer to each other, the charging light on the phone dinged and turned green. John Paul reached for it but Kit grabbed it first.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I found it.’
‘Fine.’ His voice held no emotion, but all Kit cared about at that moment was seeing the last messages Farley sent before his phone died.
‘Texts,’ she said, as she scrolled through them. ‘Just as we thought – to Monique and me, pretty much, and a couple of texts to you. But there’s something else here.’
‘What?’ He moved closer, and a photograph of the bottle of port Kit had seen in Jonas Case’s house appeared on the screen. Soon, Jonas, Farley had written. This for you, man. Beer for me. Can’t wait.
She could tell John Paul wanted to take the phone from her but that wasn’t going to happen. She clicked rapidly on photos. The first one that popped up was the last thing she expected. Taken in the pub, it was a selfie of Farley and Mickey, the bartender. Both of them grinned into the camera, Mickey in a green shirt printed with a falling tree and the words, Loggers Jamboree. Farley’s free arm was around Mickey’s skinny shoulders.
I Wish You Missed Me Page 9
