Return to Mystic Lake

by Carla Cassidy

  As he had that morning, he reached across the table and covered her smaller hand with his. He liked touching her. He wanted to give her comfort, but he knew as far as the case went, he had no words of support to offer her.

  She surprised him by twining her fingers with his. “We’re doing the best we can, right?” she said.

  “Maggie, honey, we’re doing everything humanly possible.”

  She squeezed his fingers a little tighter. “I just don’t understand why we haven’t found their bodies yet. Deep in my heart I can’t imagine a kidnapper keeping them alive for this length of time. That takes planning and work, and even though John might have the best motive for something happening to Amberly, I also believe it would be in his best interest just to kill them and let them be found.” She finally pulled her hand away from his.

  “He has a lot of resources,” Jackson said. “Despite his modest home, he’s a very wealthy man. He may have properties we don’t even know about, people working for him who aren’t even here in town. I’ve got people from your field office trying to dig deeper into John’s life and finances.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Working behind your partner’s back?”

  He shook his head. “Just using whatever resources are available. I know your gut instinct is that John had nothing to do with whatever happened, and to tell you the truth, my gut instinct has completely stopped talking to me. I’m starting to believe in aliens abducting people for scientific studies.”

  He was rewarded with one of her infrequent but charming laughs. “If that’s the case then maybe both of us need to make some aluminum foil antennae to make contact with the alien species.”

  He grinned. “I think you’d look beautiful in a pair of aluminum earpieces.”

  “Stop that,” she chided him.

  “Stop what?”

  “Don’t flirt with me. I want to know the real Jackson Revannaugh, not the superficial one who spews compliments like the peeing boy statue sprays water.”

  “I can’t believe you just compared me to a little boy statue in Brussels,” he said with a laugh. “And just for your information, that wasn’t a superficial compliment. That one came straight from my heart.”

  Her gaze held his and then she looked down and stabbed a piece of carrot with more force than necessary. “You make me a little bit crazy,” she said.

  “I think you’re making me a little crazy, too,” he admitted.

  They finished their meal in silence and then once again hit the sidewalks for more interaction with the locals. Edward Bentz’s landlady, Betty, had told them that she expected Edward back around dinnertime.

  Jackson was eager to talk to the man who had ties to both Baton Rouge and Mystic Lake, a man who had visited Maggie’s mother before he’d left town.

  Certainly, there were elements of this case Jackson found quite troubling, elements that weren’t like what he’d investigated with the Bachelor Moon disappearance.

  Everything that could be done was being done, both at the federal and at the local levels. There was nothing more they could do but what they were doing.

  They spent the next couple of hours going in and out of stores, chatting up people about the sheriff and his wife. Everywhere they went, everyone they spoke to had only good things to say about Cole and Amberly.

  Spinning wheels, he thought in disgust. They were hamsters running as fast as they could and getting nowhere. Somebody had been threatened by them, but who? Who had been holding on to the Uzi that shot up their motel room?

  He believed the threat had come from this small, pleasant town with its sparkling lake and friendly people. He believed that whoever had shot the gun had followed them from here with the intent to kill them both.

  At five o’clock they headed back to Marjorie’s car. “I’m hot and my feet are killing me,” Marjorie said as she leaned against the driver door. “I’m not used to doing this kind of pounding-the-sidewalk investigation.”

  “I told you it might be a good day to go casual,” Jackson replied, although his feet were aching, too, and his polo shirt was damp with perspiration.

  The sun was relentless and the humidity was like a living entity trying to suffocate him to death. “Is it always this humid here?” he asked as he slid into the passenger seat and she got behind the steering wheel.

  “This feels worse than usual. I heard somebody say we’re supposed to get storms tonight. The atmosphere is definitely soupy enough for them.” She started the car and turned the air conditioner on high blast.

  It blew hot air for several seconds and then began to cool. Jackson moved his vents to shoot on his face and neck and looked out the window where the sky remained cloudless. “I don’t see any signs of rainstorms anywhere,” he said.

  “Give it another hour or two,” she replied. She backed out of the parking space. “Look to the southwest, that’s usually where they come from. I just hope we’ve given Edward Bentz enough time to get from wherever he’s been to Betty Fields’s place. I’m eager to see why he was visiting my mother.”

  “I’m eager to ask him a lot of questions,” Jackson replied. He hoped there was a reasonable explanation for Edward Bentz’s sudden move to Mystic Lake. He hoped they’d discover that the man had family here, that he’d grown up here and decided it was the place he wanted to retire.

  Otherwise Jackson would have to consider if he was a potential link between the crime that had occurred in Bachelor Moon and what had happened here in Mystic Lake.

  By the time Maggie pulled up in Betty Fields’s driveway behind a white panel van, Jackson’s head was spinning. A high dose of adrenaline pulsed through him at the sight of the van, which hadn’t been in the driveway when they’d been here before.

  If somebody was going to kidnap two people, they would need transportation, and a panel van was the perfect vehicle for such an undertaking.

  Betty answered Jackson’s knock. She was a petite older woman with a head of snowy-white hair and the smile of a gentle soul. “Come in and get out of the heat,” she exclaimed. She ushered them into a small, cool formal living room with a sofa, two chairs and a polished coffee table.

  The scent of pot roast rode the air, and Jackson’s stomach rumbled despite the fact that they’d had a late lunch.

  “I know you’re here to speak to Edward. He’s just gone to his room until dinnertime. I’ll call him and you all can talk in here.” She gestured them to the sofa and then disappeared down a hallway.

  The sound of a knock on the door, a murmur of voices, and then she returned with a tall, broad-shouldered man following at her heels. “I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need anything,” she said, and quickly scurried from the room.

  Edward Bentz was a handsome man with sandy hair and hazel eyes. He gave them both a pleasant yet curious smile. “You wanted to speak to me?” he asked.

  Jackson did the introductions, noting the slight dilation of Edward’s pupils as he realized they were FBI agents. “What have I done to warrant the interest of the FBI?” He sank down in the chair opposite the sofa.

  “The first thing is that you visited my mother before you left town,” Maggie said.

  “Your mother?” His brow wrinkled and then smoothed out. “Of course, you’re Katherine’s daughter. I should have recognized the resemblance.”

  “What was your business with her?” Maggie asked, her tone more aggressive than usual.

  “Business? No business. I knew Bob Stevenson. I used to deliver medical supplies all over the southern portion of the States. I met Bob and we became friendly and then a year went by when I didn’t see him. I saw him again about three months ago and he mentioned that he’d married and divorced a woman from Mystic Lake. I got the impression he’d done her wrong, and so when I came to town I decided to look her up. She’s a lovely lady, by the way.”

/>   Jackson could tell Maggie wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. “I understand you’re from my neck of the woods,” Jackson said. “Baton Rouge?”

  Edward grinned. “I’d know that accent anywhere. I called Baton Rouge home for a long time, although my roots are here in the Midwest.”

  “Ever hear of a place called Bachelor Moon?” Jackson asked.

  Edward frowned again. “No, I don’t believe I know the place. Is it near Baton Rouge?”

  “Not far from there,” Jackson replied. “So, why does a man move from Baton Rouge to Mystic Lake?”

  “I came into a little money, an inheritance, and decided my traveling-salesman days were over. I was sick of the big city and remembered passing through here once when I came to a conference in Kansas City. I wanted a small town, and this seemed to be the perfect place.”

  Although he spoke earnestly and his facial features showed no signs of lying, as he’d talked his body had shifted slightly away from Jackson, and his feet pointed toward the door.

  When Jackson began to question him about his whereabouts on specific dates, Edward got downright shady, not remembering where he’d been or who he’d spoken to, professing that since he’d been making trips back and forth to Baton Rouge he wasn’t sure what days he was where.

  He couldn’t provide receipts for gas or travel, didn’t have records of what motels he’d stopped at on his trips. “I didn’t know any of this would be important,” he exclaimed. “I’m just a retired salesman looking for a quiet life. Why would I want to hurt a sheriff and his wife?”

  Why indeed?

  By the time they left Edward, Jackson was more confused than ever. There was something about the man he didn’t trust, but he couldn’t make the pieces fit. According to Bentz, he’d never even met Cole Caldwell.

  Dammit, they needed a break, he thought as he slammed out of the house when they were finished with the interview. He got into the car and noted the dark clouds gathering in the sky.

  Maggie had been right. It looked as though a storm was brewing, and he felt it simmering inside him. The frustration that roared through him was the same that he’d felt when he’d been working the case in Bachelor Moon, only bigger and stronger.

  He couldn’t imagine working back-to-back cases that yielded no answers, no closure. He was used to solving crimes, not allowing crimes to beat him, and at the moment he felt totally beaten.

  Maggie slid into the car and turned to look at him. “Food,” she said. “I sense a raging beast not only in the sky but also in the seat next to me. I can’t do anything about the coming storm, but we need to feed the beast before he fully emerges. We’ll stop at the diner before we leave town.”

  He looked at her in surprise, wondering when in the time they’d spent together she’d come to know him so well.

  “I just feel like we can’t get a damned break,” Jackson said when they were seated in the Mystic Lake diner, where they had eaten lunch earlier in the day.

  They’d already ordered burgers and fries, but even the promise of imminent food didn’t relax the tense lines on Jackson’s face.

  “You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten,” she said. She took a sip of her water as outside the window where they sat, the sound of thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed in the distance. Hopefully they could eat quickly enough to get back to her place in Kansas City before the rain came.

  “What did you think about Bentz’s story?” he asked.

  She released a tired sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know what to think. I definitely believe we need to dig a little deeper into his background, confirm his previous employment and whatever we can find out through legal channels. We don’t have enough on him to get any kind of a warrant to dig too deep.”

  “I did a cursory background search on him already. He has no criminal record. The man has never even gotten a speeding ticket,” Jackson said with obvious disgust.

  “Maybe it is just a coincidence that he showed up in town around the same time Cole and Amberly went missing. Maybe he really is exactly what he says he is, a traveling salesman from the South who decided to retire to a small Midwestern town.” She sighed once again. “And maybe the moon is really made of green cheese.”

  “So, you didn’t believe him,” Jackson replied. He paused as the waitress arrived with their orders.

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she admitted. “I feel like my brain has been taken out, scrambled and shaken and then set back in place. Maybe I’m just exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jackson replied.

  She had a feeling he wasn’t sleeping well for the same reason she wasn’t. Each night that he’d been beneath her roof, she’d tossed and turned, trying not to think about him in the next room, trying not to play and replay the kiss they’d shared. The energy between them snapped and crackled, and fighting it had become exhausting.

  He picked up a fry from his plate without enthusiasm and glanced out the window where the storm clouds had created a false sense of twilight.

  It was the first time since she’d met him that he appeared discouraged, without a smart quip or that twinkle in his eyes. His unusual demeanor made her even more afraid for Cole and Amberly.

  “You aren’t giving up, are you, Jackson?” She voiced her concern.

  He smiled and shook his head. “No way. I’m a persistent man when I’m going after something I want, and I want answers. No, I’m not giving up, but I am discouraged by our lack of progress.”

  He picked up another French fry, but it was obvious that food wasn’t going to solve the problem of his frustration. He took a bite of his burger and then shoved his plate away with a deep sigh.

  “Actually, I thought I was hungry, but I guess I’m not,” he admitted.

  She raised a brow. “Take note of this moment...Jackson Revannaugh isn’t hungry.” She looked down at her plate and then back at him. “To tell the truth, I’m not really hungry, either.”

  He gazed toward the window where it appeared darker than it had moments before. “Maybe we should just get out of here and try to beat the storm to Kansas City.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” she agreed. “We can always eat later at home, since you stocked my pantry and fridge with enough food to feed a small army for a month.”

  Thunder crashed overhead as they left the diner, followed by a sizzle of lightning that slashed through the dark sky. Thankfully the rain hadn’t begun, although it threatened to fall at any minute.

  Marjorie had just pulled out of the diner and started down Main Street when she noticed in her rearview mirror that a motorcycle was following too close for her comfort.

  “Crazy drivers,” she muttered under her breath. At that moment her rearview mirror on the outside of her door exploded. She screamed at the same time Jackson flew into action. He unbuckled his seat belt, pulled his gun and turned to look out the back window.

  “He’s got a gun. Don’t let him pull up next to us. Keep him behind us.” Jackson rolled down his window and leaned out as Marjorie fought down panic.

  The back window exploded inward and Marjorie stifled another scream while Jackson cursed and fired back. “Get us off this main road,” he said. “Make a turn and try to lose him.”

  Marjorie didn’t know the town of Mystic Lake well, but she stepped on the gas and then took the next right turn at a speed that had them nearly riding on two wheels. She quickly made another turn to the left, but could hear the whine of the motorcycle still behind them.

  Jackson popped off a couple more shots, but in her rearview mirror Marjorie saw the motorcyclist zig and zag in erratic movements to dodge Jackson’s assault.

  As he made a move to pull up next to the side of the car, she turned the wheel and rode along the curb to thwart his actions, grateful that
they were on a residential street with no oncoming traffic. Numb with fear, she turned left, then right and then left once again, lost in the maze of quiet neighborhood streets while the cyclist remained behind them.

  She realized that as long as she was driving fast and taking corners at breakneck speed, he had no opportunity to shoot but instead had to focus on his own driving.

  The fear dissipated when she focused on the simple act of survival. Training kicked in and a cold wash of determination swept over her. As Jackson fired again, the motorcycle fell back.

  Marjorie didn’t slow her speed or her evasive driving. She continued to race down streets. Disoriented as to place, she was stunned to find herself back on the road that led to Kansas City. A glance in her mirror showed her nothing, and an edge of relief coursed through her. It lasted only seconds, since the motorcycle roared into view once again.

  “Just don’t let him get next to us,” Jackson said, his voice half lost from the wind blowing in the open back window. He was leaning so far out the passenger window she feared if she veered too sharply he’d fall out.

  Once again the motorcycle roared forward, heading for the other lane of traffic. Marjorie jerked her wheel to keep him from coming up alongside the car.

  She knew that if he got next to them he’d have a perfect shot to kill either her or Jackson, and she wasn’t about to let that happen. If he was going to kill them, she was going to make him work for it.

  As she saw the approaching lights from a car, she swerved back into her lane, and the motorcycle fell back. She was aware of her own breaths coming in small gasps, but she focused on keeping the car on the road.

  If they could just make Kansas City there would be enough traffic that it would be much easier to lose their pursuer. She knew the city well, knew the best streets to take to throw him off.

  Just get to Kansas City. It became a mantra in her head as her gaze shot from the mirror to the road. Raindrops began to splash on her window, and she had to turn on her wiper blades in order to see the road ahead.