by Sharon Sala
Tara frowned. “And did you talk to Flynn’s teachers to see if he was in all his classes?”
Detective Allen fidgeted with the pen he was holding. “According to the teachers, he answered roll in every class and didn’t ask to be excused in any of them.”
Tara gasped, and when she did, the lights started going on and off in the room and pages started flying out of Detective Allen’s notebook. He was too scared to move. She was so angry her voice was shaking.
“I can’t believe you just did this. You knew all along that Flynn had nothing to do with that man’s murder, and yet everything you said to me earlier was deceptive. You let me talk, then you led me to believe Flynn could be responsible for this dead man and were viewing him as a suspect, when all along you knew he was missing!”
“It’s called interviewing a witness to a crime,” Allen said.
“Well then, you’re both sitting in the wrong house, because I did not witness a crime today, and you both know Flynn didn’t either. Are you looking for Flynn? Is there a missing person’s report out?”
“Well—”
Tara stomped to the door and yanked it open. All the papers that had been flying around the room went shooting out the door. “If I find out anything else that will be of benefit to your case, I will call you.”
Pat stood up. He was as aggravated at them as Tara was, but knew it was wise to err on the side of courtesy.
“Gentlemen, if you’re done, our supper’s getting cold.”
Since Detective Allen had already booked it out the door, Detective Rutherford was trying to maintain his composure. “Right. So, if you hear from Flynn, you’ll let us know?”
Tara’s voice was shaking. “I just told you that people are trying to force Michael O’Mara to give up the hiding place of a bunch of money and use Flynn to do it. Now he’s missing, and you think he’s hiding out? You don’t know Flynn. He would never run off and leave his mother at the mercy of these people. If he’s missing, he’s in trouble. He needs your help.”
Tara burst into tears and ran out of the room.
Rutherford paused at the threshold. “I like your niece, okay? Tell her we’re sorry we upset her.”
“I like her, too, and she’s right. You both knew coming in here that the boy wasn’t a suspect, and yet you let her think it, trying to trick her into saying something that would incriminate one or both of them. If someone has snatched Mona’s son, then find the boy and you’ll find your murderer. I think we’re done here.”
He closed the door in their faces.
Rutherford looked at his partner, who was out in the yard picking up the papers from his notebook, then shook his head and headed for the car.
Inside, Pat went to Tara’s room and found her face down on her bed, sobbing.
Chapter Two
“Tara, sweetheart . . .”
Tara sat up and threw her arms around her uncle Pat’s neck. “I’m scared, Uncle Pat. Something has happened to Flynn that isn’t good, I can feel it.”
Pat was sick, thinking of how frightened Mona must be. “Do you want to go over to his house after we eat?”
“Yes, oh yes, Uncle Pat. Maybe if I’m there I can pick up on something that might help find him.”
Pat gave her a hug. “That’s my girl. Thinking positive is always the best. Now go wash your face and let’s eat. I’m starved, and the food smells so good I can’t wait to dig in.”
Relieved that they had a plan, Tara washed the tears from her face and followed her uncle into the kitchen. He was already putting food on the table and making their drinks.
“Do you want iced tea?”
She nodded and started to help, but he shooed her toward the table.
“I got this. You cooked. After we eat, I’ll clean up and then we’ll head over to Mona’s.”
Tara ate without tasting the food, anxious to get out of the house. She kept sending mental signals to Millicent and Henry, but they’d made themselves suspiciously absent, which usually meant they knew answers to what she would ask, but weren’t allowed to tell her.
The lights were off when Pat and Tara arrived at the O’Mara residence. Pat frowned. “Looks like she’s gone.”
Tara closed her eyes and focused. In her mind, she could see Flynn’s mother sitting in a chair in the dark. She looked terrified.
“No, she’s there, and she’s really scared, Uncle Pat.”
“That settles it,” he said. “We’re going in, no matter what. Come on.”
The moment they got up the steps Pat knocked loudly. “Mona, it’s me, Pat. Tara is with me. Let us in.”
Within seconds, the door swung inward. She took one look at them and then burst into tears. Pat hugged her as Tara locked the door and then followed them into the living room. Mona sat down between them and grabbed their hands.
“The police were here. They said Flynn had an argument with a man this morning and now the man is dead. He didn’t come home from school and he hasn’t called,” Mona whispered. “If he’s going to be late, he always calls. What’s happening?”
Pat frowned. “What did the police say to you?”
Mona started crying. “They want to talk to Flynn about the murder. Flynn wouldn’t kill anyone. I don’t understand why this is happening.”
Tara was furious. The police had been as deceptive with Mona as they had with them. “The police already know Flynn didn’t kill that man. They’re just trying to trick us into saying something incriminating.”
Mona blinked. “Us, trick us? Are you involved?”
Tara felt Mona’s emotions shift to a need to blame her for what was happening, but she couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Only to the extent of seeing some man pin Flynn against the wall of a convenience store this morning. Because of the rain, Nikki Scott was giving me a ride to school. We saw Flynn and stopped to pick him up, too. When we honked to get his attention, the man who was talking to him ran away. We gave Flynn a ride, but he wouldn’t talk to me about anything.”
Mona moaned.
Pat squeezed her hand. “There’s more, Mona, and you’re going to have to be strong.”
Mona looked at Tara in horror. “You know something? Oh my God, is he dead? Is Flynn dead?”
Tara didn’t know how to answer without making it worse. “I haven’t been able to get a connection to him, but I know something about why the man was bothering Flynn. I’m sorry, but it has to do with Flynn’s father.”
Mona groaned. “What is it? Tell me.”
“There are some men who were associated with your ex-husband. He hid a bunch of their money, then got arrested and sent to prison. They don’t know where he hid it, and were willing to wait until he got out, but then they somehow found out about the cancer. They are afraid he’ll die without revealing the location and they’re trying to get to Michael through Flynn.”
Mona’s panic turned quickly to anger. “Even in prison he’s still ruining our lives.”
Pat took her hand. “Mona, listen to me. I’ve been thinking about this ever since Tara told us what was going on. I don’t know where Flynn is, but I’d lay big odds that they’re taking good care of him. If they want Michael’s cooperation, they will have to assure him that Flynn has come to no harm.”
She shivered. “Yes, yes, that makes sense. I pray that you’re right, because if anything ever happened to Flynn, I would die. He’s all I have.”
Mona’s despair was swamping Tara’s ability to focus. She needed to put some distance between them if she had a chance of making a connection with Flynn.
“Uh, Mrs. O’Mara, you know a little bit about how things work with me, right?”
“I guess so, but why?”
“May I go into Flynn’s room? Maybe if I touch some of his things I can get a connection with him.”
“Down the hall, last door on your left. Go, go, do whatever you do. Find my boy, Tara. Please.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”
&nb
sp; Tara got up quickly and left her uncle and Mona talking quietly on the sofa. Tara’s hands were sweating and her stomach was in knots. She had never wanted her skills to work as much as she did right now.
The moment she walked into Flynn’s room she felt sad and afraid. They were his emotions, not hers, and it made her even more anxious to find his location before something else happened.
Her voice was shaking as she moved to the dresser. “Millicent. Henry. Where are you guys? Why aren’t you helping me here?”
He’s alive.
Tara was so relieved that she started to cry. Tears were rolling down her face as she pushed his hairbrush aside to get some tissues, and the moment she touched the brush, she was in his head, hearing his voice, feeling his pain and his fear.
These ropes are too tight. I can’t feel my hands. I can’t believe this is happening. I need to get word to Mom. These guys are total screw-ups and they’ll come after her next. It’s all Dad’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten mixed up with them, none of this would be happening.
Suddenly Tara was seeing the room through Flynn’s eyes. It looked like a seedy motel, but there wasn’t anything in sight to tell her where it was. Then she watched the door open. She felt Flynn’s adrenaline surge, and when she saw the man who walked in, she understood why. The man was huge—both tall and heavy, with long gray/brown hair and a full gray beard, but she couldn’t see enough of his features to be able to identify him.
“Well, boy, looks like we don’t need your help after all. Your old man is dead, so we’re gonna have to revamp the set-up.”
“Dad’s dead? No! You’re lying.”
Tara felt the shock and then a wave of sorrow sweep through him. She was crying with him as he struggled to get free of the ropes.
“No lie, kid. That’s what our source told us, and we’re none too happy about it ourselves. Bringing you here to McAlester to visit him at the prison was a waste of time.”
“Does that mean you’re letting me go?”
“What it means is that we’re gonna have to shift focus. We found out your mama paid your daddy a visit here at the prison a few weeks back, and we’re thinkin’ that if old Mike knew he was dying, he’d be tellin’ someone about that money. We’re thinkin’ he told your mama where it is, and now she’s gonna have to cough it up before we can let you go.”
“No, Sam. You’re wrong. Dad wouldn’t do that. He’d know Mom wouldn’t take it. He’d know that she’d tell the police, first.”
“Sorry. I’m not buyin’ that story. We’re about to bet your life that you’re wrong, because if your mama don’t cough up that money, you’ll both be joinin’ your old man a lot faster than you planned.”
Tara gasped, and just like that, the link was gone. But she’d seen and heard enough. Now she needed to tell the police. She ran out of his room and back up the hall.
“Uncle Pat! You need to call the police now!”
Mona jumped up and grabbed Tara’s arm. “What did you see? Tell me! Is he alive?”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s alive.”
Mona’s eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted. Pat caught her, and laid her down on the sofa. When he wanted to fuss over her, Tara grabbed him by the arm.
“Uncle Pat, hurry. Make the call,” then she sat down to wait for the police to arrive.
Detective Allen was at his desk when the call came in. He paged Rutherford, who was at his son’s Boy Scout meeting. It took less than fifteen minutes for them to get to the O’Mara house.
“What are you two doing here?” Rutherford asked, as Uncle Pat let them in.
Tara stood up. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was firm.
“We’re here because this is the closest I could get to Flynn, and I needed a connection. He’s in trouble. A big heavy-set man with long gray/brown hair and a bushy gray beard is holding Flynn hostage. Flynn called him Sam. He’s in a motel in the town where the prison is located, but I don’t know the name. They were going to make him visit his father tomorrow at the penitentiary and get the location of the money, only Michael O’Mara died tonight so they’re shifting focus to Mrs. O’Mara. They think because she visited him in prison a few weeks earlier that he surely told her where he hid this money.”
Rutherford shoved a hand through his hair. “O’Mara died?”
Tara shrugged. “It’s what Sam said.”
“Allen, check that out, will you?” Rutherford asked.
His partner nodded and stepped outside to make the call as Rutherford eyed Mona.
“Mrs. O’Mara, did you visit your ex-husband recently?”
“Only once, a few weeks ago, right after I found out he had cancer. There were some hard feelings between us and I didn’t want him to die without making peace.”
“Yes, ma’am, but did he mention any money?”
“No, no, but I wish to God he had, because then I would have something to tell the men who have Flynn.”
“You need to hide her,” Tara said. “As long as they can’t find her, they’ll keep Flynn alive. The minute she tells them what she just told you, he’s dead.”
Rutherford looked nervous. “Is that what you heard this Sam guy say?”
“What he said was that if Mona didn’t help, they would be joining his father.”
Mona gasped.
Detective Allen came back inside. “She was right. O’Mara died this evening.” He eyed Tara curiously, as if trying to figure out how her brain worked.
“It’s a really run-down motel,” Tara offered.
“There’s one other thing,” Allen said. “Our murder victim has an older brother named Sam.”
Rutherford spun. “Then we might just know the name of the man who has Flynn, which means we can get a make and model on the car he drives and search motels in and around McAlester.” He looked at Tara and grinned. “You really need to rethink my suggestion a few months ago and become a detective when you’re out of college. We could sure use someone like you.”
Tara glared. “I don’t think I’d like to be a detective. I know I didn’t like being grilled and lied to this morning.”
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that, but we didn’t actually lie,” Allen said.
Rutherford wasn’t going to apologize. “We were just doing our job, and that’s what we’re going to do now. Mrs. O’Mara, do you have any relatives out of town . . . or someplace to go that these men wouldn’t know about?”
“I’m not leaving town and I’m not leaving this house. If I’m their next target, then that may be the only way to get my son back.”
Rutherford argued. “You heard Tara. You can’t help him if you don’t know the location of the money, but you need to find a place to hide and stay out of sight. It’ll give us time to find your son.”
“Then you need to start looking and find him, because I’m not budging. He’s my son—my life. If I need to be the lure that brings them here, then so be it.”
Tara watched her uncle put his arm around Mona and swallowed back tears. This was awful, knowing just enough to panic, but not sure it was enough to help Flynn out of this mess.
“Are you notifying the local authorities in McAlester to look for that man car?” Mona asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Detective Allen is already relaying the info to our department. They’ll coordinate the search with the McAlester PD,” Rutherford said. “And, if you’re determined to stay here, we’ll put a police unit on your street until we have the kidnappers in custody . . . if we can find them, that is.”
“Do what you need to do,” Pat said. “Mona won’t be alone. We’ll stay.”
“Promise you’ll call?” Tara asked.
Rutherford eyed the tears in Tara’s eyes. “Yeah, kid, I promise.”
Flynn’s head hurt from crying.
This was, without doubt, the worst day of his life. Kidnapped right off his own front porch, then hog-tied and thrown into the floorboard of Sam Nettles’ truck. They drove for what felt like hours and then dragged him into this na
sty motel room after dark and tied him up to a chair. He couldn’t believe his dad was dead and he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. He kept thinking of his mother and of Tara, wondering if he’d ever see them again.
The two guys who came with Sam were asleep on the bed. Sam had dozed off in a chair, but the gun in his lap was scary enough to keep Flynn still. He didn’t want the man to wake up in a panic and shoot him by mistake.
All of a sudden he saw a shadow pass by the window outside the room, and then another shadow, and then a third. His heart started to pound.
Boom! The door flew inward, hitting the wall with a thud.
“Police! Police! Hands up! Now!”
Sam Nettles jerked as he woke. The gun he was holding slid to the floor as police slapped him and the other two men in handcuffs and hauled them out of the room so fast Flynn thought he was dreaming.
Then an officer came toward him. “Are you Flynn O’Mara?”
Flynn was too shocked to do anything but nod as the man cut the ropes from his wrists and ankles. His arms were so numb he could barely move them.
“Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“No sir,” Flynn said. “But I think they would have. Can I go home?”
“There are a couple of cops on the way from Stillwater to pick you up. Hang tough, kid. As soon as we get your story, we’ll have you home before morning.”
Tara sat up with a gasp and looked around the room in confusion. Where was she? OMG, they were still at Flynn’s house, and after that dream she’d just had, she was about as certain as a teenage psychic could be that the McAlester police had just rescued Flynn from the motel. Still, Rutherford had promised that he’d call if it happened, and the phone wasn’t ringing.
Mona had gone to her room about two hours earlier and Pat had fallen asleep in the recliner. The phone was right by the sofa where Tara was lying. She stared at it, willing it to ring. But it didn’t, and the longer time passed, the more anxious she became. What if that had been nothing more than just a dream of wishful thinking?
