That figures.
Glancing around at the fencing that separated the property from its neighbors, Diana guessed that it probably comprised several acres. The acreage alone would have cost Joe Flannigan a bunch of barrels—all barrels, that is.
As she exited her car and approached the house, Diana noticed a couple of outbuildings, both well-maintained, as was the exterior of the home. What did you expect? Beer cans all over the place?
Joe Flannigan, dressed in jeans that fitted him better, another flannel shirt, and stocking feet, opened the front door before Diana had a chance to ring the bell. She glanced down at her watch, confirming that she was on time.
“Come on in,” he invited, stepping aside for her to enter.
Diana walked into the living room on hardwood flooring covered with occasional Navajo rugs in muted colors. Her forced smile faded at the sight of an imposing maple gun case that contained several rifles. She paused as she took in more of the room. Animal heads crowded the walls, their glassy eyes peering at her.
Joe Flannigan was saying something. Her revulsion at the wall mounts had caused her to tune him out. “What was that … Joe?”
“My wife, she’s in the kitchen, if you’ll come this way.”
As she followed him through the dining room, Diana noticed a picture on an oak side table. An exotically beautiful young woman cradled an infant in the crook of one arm, while the other arm embraced a blond toddler. With her long, straight dark hair and almond eyes, she reminded Diana of a Native American Madonna.
“That’s my Brandi.”
Diana looked away from the picture, into Joe Flannigan’s tired blue eyes. “She’s lovely. Those are your grandchildren?”
“Keith is only a couple of weeks old there. The girl is three.”
“A handsome family,” replied Diana, noting the absence of Darren Rogart from the family photo.
As Diana’s glance moved from the side table to the mantle of a double fireplace that served both living and dining rooms, she saw a wedding picture. The glowing bride could have been the same young woman pictured with the children. But the ruggedly good-looking groom, whose thick head of sandy hair was a bit on the long side, was definitely not Darren Rogart. This must be the Flannigans’ wedding picture. Diana’s eyes widened as she followed the slump-shouldered form of Joe Flannigan into the kitchen. The room smelled faintly of apples and cinnamon, laced with fresh coffee.
Mrs. Flannigan was preparing coffee in an old-fashioned lacquered metal pot as Diana and Joe entered the wide, sunny country kitchen. She wore an ankle-length denim dress, topped by an embroidered apron with an interesting display of forest animals. Diana wondered if it was her own creation.
“This’s my wife Rena,” said Joe. He didn’t bother saying Diana’s name. She guessed Mrs. Flannigan was well aware of who she was.
“Have a seat, Mrs. Martin. Coffee’s nearly done brewin’” Rena’s Oklahoma accent was similar to Joe’s.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Flannigan.” Diana tried to smile as she did mental math from the stats contained in Jess’s material. The petite, sad-faced woman looked much younger than her forty-seven years. Brandi, her daughter, was thirty when she disappeared. Brandi’s oldest child, thirteen. Teen-age pregnancies and marriages, in whatever order, seemed to run in this family.
As Rena turned back toward the coffee on the stove, Diana noticed her hair in a single long braid down her back, its few strands of silver the only indicators of the woman’s age. So strong was Rena’s resemblance to her daughter, Brandi, that she could have been the high-cheekboned beauty in both of the pictures.
Still standing, Diana eyed the pretty maple chairs with their colorful handmade cushions. She looked around the room, then through the picture window that faced a dormant backyard garden. A birdbath hosted several robins who’d stayed the winter. A couple of blue jays fought over a block of suet hung in a bare-limbed cottonwood.
“Where are the children?” asked Diana, looking back at Rena as she spoke.
Tension filled the room like a fourth presence.
Rena had begun to pour coffee into three mugs. Now she spilled some as she looked toward her husband for an answer to Diana’s question. Diana’s eyes followed Rena’s hands, thinking she spotted a slight tremor.
“They’re in school, of course,” barked Joe Flannigan, reminding Diana of a dog raising its hackles.
Diana stepped back to where she could watch both Flannigans. “But, I thought I made it clear that I needed to interview them.”
“There’s nothin’ to be gained by that worth keepin’ ‘em out o’ school for,” grumbled Flannigan. “You got kids, Missus Martin?”
“No. But that’s not—”
“Didn’t think so.” He snorted and shook his head.
His comment opened the wound again. Diana gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on Mrs. Flannigan. The woman stood as if paralyzed, her eyes riveted on her husband.
Diana turned a grimace into a smile, looking directly at Rena. “When will the children be home?”
Rena shook her head, looked out the window into the backyard. She crossed her arms, and her fingers clawed upward at the long sleeves of her dress. Diana glimpsed what appeared to be a large bruise on the woman’s right arm.
“You’re welcome to see their rooms, so you can tell we provide a good home for ‘em,” offered Joe.
Diana felt her anger heighten as she considered the implications of Rena Flannigan’s reticence, along with the bruise on her arm. “I asked to see the children, Mr. Flannigan. Not their rooms.”
The look that crossed his face made Diana move instinctively away. She watched the same tide of rage she’d observed in her office sweep over him. Only this time, the sound of a phone ringing halted his outburst. He picked up the instrument on the counter top, turning away from both women as he did so.
“Won’t you have some coffee?” Rena’s soft voice pleaded over Joe’s phone conversation, blurring the sound of his words.
“Quiet,” growled Flannigan at his wife. Diana noticed that she didn’t even blink. “I’ll take this in the other room,” he continued, laying down the phone. He gave his wife a malevolent stare as he left the room.
Rena set two mugs of hot coffee on the table, then sat down opposite Diana. “Joe don’t mean no harm,” she began. “He’s hurtin’ somthin’ terrible. Brandi was our one-and-only.”
Was? Rena must think her daughter’s dead, too.
“What about your pain, Mrs. Flannigan?” asked Diana, her eyes traveling to the woman’s right arm. But now it was covered by the sleeve of her dress.
“I sometimes think we women bear ours better’n the men do. I miss my daughter ….” Rena’s voice trailed away. A light seemed to shut off in her beautiful, dark eyes.
“You were close to your daughter?”
Rena nodded. “As close as he’d let us be.”
He? Does she mean her husband or her son-in-law?
Before Diana could articulate the question, Joe Flannigan returned to the room. “The kids are messed up enough as it is,” he said. “No need for you pokin’ a bunch of questions at ‘em.”
“You do realize that if we go to court, the judge will be interviewing them?”
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“Then you’ll be dealing through another attorney,” replied Diana crisply. “I can’t handle your case. My secretary will refund your retainer through the mail.”
Diana moved deliberately toward the door that led back through the dining room.
“Who th’ hell do you think you are?” The breath from his words was hot on her neck.
He was right behind her, following. Be calm, she told herself as she looked back, relieved to see that he hadn’t taken up some kind of weapon. Her last glimpse of Rena was of the woman wiping up spilled coffee from the table, hands shaking like leaves in a whirlwind.
Diana reached the living room without breaking stride. She could s
till hear Flannigan behind her, breathing heavily, mumbling under his breath. As she turned the door handle, she heard him mutter, “Bitch!” Diana hurried through the door, pulled it shut behind her, then ran the rest of the way to her car. To hell with dignity.
Once inside her car, she immediately locked the doors. She thought of Rena Flannigan, wishing she’d taken the opportunity to at least give the woman her business card during those few moments when Joe had been out of the room.
As she jammed the key into the ignition, a flash of movement from one of the outbuildings caught her eye. She turned in time to see a young girl in blue jeans run toward the house. Small and fair-haired, she skittered like a frightened deer. Diana suppressed a strong urge to get out of the car and go after her.
As she drove away, Diana determined to call Rena at a later date. Maybe if she could catch her when Joe wasn’t around, Rena would be more forthcoming. Maybe then she’d be able to speak with the children.
What for? You just removed yourself from the case.
But something about the sad-faced woman, the beautiful daughter, and the two young children—especially thirteen-year-old Lori whose childhood had just been stolen—had become imbedded in her heart.
Chapter 13
On the day following her Flannigan fracas, Diana joined Jess in the dressing room of the Body Works Gym and Spa, where they were regulars—Diana as a member, and Jess, a part-time aerobics instructor.
Diana felt in the midst of catch twenty-two. By quitting as Flannigan’s lawyer she had no legitimate reason for access to the Rogart children, to assess their welfare. But, if she’d stayed on the case as Flannigan’s legal counsel, she’d be obliged to pursue his best interests. Short of Flannigan’s announcement that he was contemplating a felony, Diana’s lips would be sealed concerning anything she learned from him.
Now, she had every intention of picking Jess’s brain on the subject. But the half dozen women in the dressing room, in various stages of robbing or disrobing made private conversation unlikely.
“Don’t you think you’re rushing things?” asked Jess, eyeing Diana disapprovingly.
“I’m fine,” said Diana as she stripped off her outer clothes and quickly pulled on loose gray sweats and a white tank top before hanging up her blouse and business suit. Though her new, oversized underpants hid the ugly scar, she was aware of the remaining swelling. Her body had become a stranger that she was uncomfortable to be seen with in public.
“That’s a crock of shit,” snapped Jess. “Keep it up and you’ll end up back in the hospital.”
“I’m just going to do some step aerobics and a little stationary bike.” Diana tried to smile, succeeded. “I can feel my muscles turning to flab.”
Jess stretched lazily, like a big cat, then sat down on a bench to put on her black Adidas. “How’re you coming with the Flannigan custody suit?” she asked.
Good. She brought it up.
“I’m not. I quit him,” replied Diana as she laced up her white Nikes, frowning as she tried to formulate questions she could ask without violating her own client confidentiality. After all, she had briefly represented Flannigan. Or had she?
“A tad testy about it, aren’t we?” purred Jess.
Diana looked hard at Jess, thinking she seemed a bit too relaxed. She thought of Winston’s revelation. Maybe the Jess-Rogart connection had cranked up a notch.
“Sounding a bit smug, aren’t we?” mocked Diana. “So, is he really that good?”
“Who?”
“Rogart. Winston says you’re seeing the guy.”
Jess’s expression turned unexpectedly thoughtful. “I’m not really sure what to call it.” She looked quickly at her watch. “Come on. I gotta start the class.”
Out in the gym, Jess presided over a class of about fifteen women. The stereo boomed out her favorite selections—classics resurrected from the eighties. Slow pieces accompanied their warm-up stretches. Diana felt the pull on her abdomen and allowed herself to do incomplete twists and bends.
Then things got serious. The Pointer Sisters’ “Jump For My Love” burst from the speakers, accelerating the pace. As Jess led them in increasingly strenuous movement, Diana found she couldn’t keep up—even if she stepped when the others jumped. In less than fifteen minutes she was retreating to the strains of the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive.”
Back in the dressing room, Diana, dripping sweat, hunched over a bench. So much for exercise. Jess had been right. She wasn’t ready. And she really wasn’t ready to get in the shower where others could see the ugly, red, lumpy line that now marred the body she used to think looked pretty damn good.
She must have wallowed in the funk of self-pity longer than she realized—or dozed off—as Jess’s voice roused her. “What’re you doing? Holding that bench down?”
Diana looked up, blinked and replied, “Just letting the sweat dry.”
Jess snorted as she stepped out of her leotard and underwear, grabbing a towel. “That’s what we have showers for.”
Diana eyed Jess’s unmarred athlete’s body enviously. “Some of us don’t have anything left to flaunt.”
“Flaunt?” Jess paused at the shower room door. “You still hung up on your scar? Like anybody in here really cares. We’re all women. Hello!”
This brought an involuntary giggle from Diana. “Is that all women, as in O-I-L?” she shouted at Jess.
“You’re better. I can tell,” yelled Jess over the sound of the water.
Later, as Jess dried off, Diana bagged her work clothes and put on her winter coat over her sweats. Then she took a good look at what Jess was now wearing: skin-tight red lame top with a black leather miniskirt and knee-high leopard boots with four-inch heels.
“Anybody tell you Halloween was back in October?” she asked.
Jess shrugged. “It’s my Colfax outfit.”
“Is business that bad?” Diana laughed aloud, picturing Jess parading around Denver’s red light district.
“I’ve got a lead on a missing girl,” said Jess. “It’s something I’m doing for Dare.”
“Dare? As in Darren Rogart?” Diana raised an eyebrow.
Jess nodded, something uncharacteristically sheepish creeping into her expression. “The daughter of a friend. His time’s kind of tight now that he’s got his kids back.”
Diana dropped her bag of clothing. “You just asked about the custody suit when you already knew it was dead in the water?”
“Keep your voice down, okay?” Jess looked around nervously as the room filled with women for the next class. “He waited for them after school yesterday and just took them. They’re so happy to be back with him.”
Diana frowned, remembering the streak of teen-age girl she’d seen in the Flannigan’s back yard the day before. That girl must have been Lori. She hadn’t been in school. “You’ve met them by now?” asked Diana.
“Not yet. I’m really in no hurry to meet the little darlings.”
Diana rolled her eyes as she picked up her things and followed Jess out of the dressing room, walking slowly across the gym toward the door to the parking lot. Then she remembered something else. “I meant to bring your files back tonight,” she began.
“That’s okay,” interrupted Jess, lengthening her stride. “Whenever.”
“Did you give me the whole thing?” Diana persisted as she hurried to catch up with Jess. “I mean, there was so little on Rogart. I’d think he’d have a separate file.”
Jess flicked a hand dismissively, “You quit Flannigan. Why would you care?”
Diana shrugged. “Just curious.” She plumbed for a better reason. “Concerned about you, now that you two are an item.”
Jess didn’t comment as she pushed open the outside door and held it while Diana exited. Cold air hit them as they crossed the parking lot. How un-Jess, to shut down the conversation, thought Diana. Typically, she’d be the first to brag about a conquest, like a guy might.
“Who’s the girl you’re looking for on Co
lfax?” Diana tried to jump-start their dialogue.
“Remember the guy who had Darren’s daughter stashed in the cabin?”
“Frozen dead guy?”
“You did read my report.”
“Why would Darren want to do him a favor? I mean, he’s dead.”
“No, it’s for the guy’s widow. See, these red-necks were all Joe’s buds before Darren ever knew them. He feels sorry for the widow. The Strickland girl went missing the same night as Lori.”
“That’s not what the police report says. It says—”
“I know what it says, but that’s when it was reported, not when she went missing. Darren thinks Joe and Larry did some kind of a sick trade.”
Diana cringed at the thought. “Trade his granddaughter for his buddy’s daughter? This just gets worse.”
“Does make you want to puke, doesn’t it?”
“Wouldn’t Darren’s children have told him if there had been a strange girl in their grandparents’ house?” asked Diana.
“Are you nuts? He wouldn’t keep her at the house.”
The women approached their respective vehicles, adjacently parked in the crowded lot.
Diana’s apprehension heightened as she grabbed Jess’s elbow. “I think Darren may not be the person you think he is. I was at the Flannigan house yesterday. As I was leaving, I saw a small, blond girl run through the yard. I think it was Lori, which means Darren didn’t take her from school. He lied to you, Jess.”
Jess shrugged away from her grasp. “Patty Strickland is a blonde. Maybe that’s who you saw.”
Under his wife’s nose? Is that possible? But Diana knew from past cases she’d handled that victims of abuse will put up with the impossible—until something snaps.
“Even if it was Lori,” continued Jess, “that doesn’t mean Darren lied. She could’ve just been running back for some of her stuff.”
Diana withdrew the car keys from her purse. She shivered under her knee-length, down coat. “Are you working with the cops or the Feebs on this?” she asked.
“Patty lived in Westcliffe. The Custer County Sheriff considers her a runaway. As you know, she’s also considered a person of interest in her dad’s murder. They’re dragging their feet ‘cause Strickland wasn’t exactly popular in those parts. That’s why Darren asked for my help.”
The Trophy Hunter Page 6
