by D. F. Hart
Trash sandwiches constructed, they gathered around the table to eat and visit.
“Congratulations on completing your degrees!” Trish told Kelly. “Impressive.”
“Thanks,” Kelly answered, smiling and showing the dimples that Grant adored. “I’ve always loved history, and I was so excited when I got old enough to realize I could parlay that love into a career.”
“What’s your next step?” Joe asked.
“Actually,” Kelly revealed, “I start Monday as a tour guide up here at Fort Richardson. I got hired on with Texas Parks and Wildlife.”
“How delightful!” Bernice enthused. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I found an apartment when I was up here last weekend, and I got the last of my stuff moved in this morning, thanks to Grant helping me,” she answered, and favored him with a huge smile. “I still have a lot of unpacking to do, but at least everything I own is back in one location now.”
“And I will help you with all that, too. On one condition,” Grant told her. “That you let me show you our cabin at the lake. Do you like to fish?”
“I love fishing,” she replied. “But I don’t have any gear.”
“No worries, young lady,” Bernice chimed in. “My sweet Bill kept the cabin pretty well stocked. There’s all sorts of poles and tackle out there you can use.”
“We were planning on heading down there after lunch,” Joe pointed out. “Join us.”
“Thanks,” Kelly beamed. “I’d really like that.”
***
“Well, it is a holiday weekend,” Lizzie muttered to herself from Grant’s front porch. “He could be anywhere.”
She dialed Nathan’s number.
“He’s not here,” she relayed.
“We’ll put out an APB for him and his car. That’s the best we can do right now. Come on back.”
“Roger that. On my way.”
***
Within the hour Lizzie was seated in the conference room with the rest of the team.
“I think we can narrow the scope,” she blurted.
“Meaning?”
“Each attack that’s happened has been within forty-eight hours of Grant Forrester touring a fort location, right?”
“Yep.”
“And we know for a fact he’s already been to Belknap over a month ago, and nothing happened up there. My point is, I think any threat concerning anyone connected to Fort Belknap has passed. It’s way outside the pattern of timeframe, from what we’ve seen. So, I think our focus should be on the locations left on the Texas Forts Trail that he hasn’t visited yet. It’d be a way to get ahead of whoever’s killing people at each place - somewhat.”
“We need to chart it,” Nathan answered, and stepped up to the whiteboard that had since had an enlarged map of the Texas Forts Trail taped to one half of it. “And we also need to see if there’s a pattern to the order, as well.”
“Okay,” he continued, dry erase marker in hand, “the first murder was Edward Baker, at Fort Concho, here.”
He numbered the location in San Angelo with a ‘#1’.
“Next was Stella Williams, connected to Fort Chadbourne,” Annie called out, and Nathan marked that location accordingly.
“Benji Patterson, Forts Griffin and Phantom Hill, came after that,” Lizzie announced, and Nathan continued his numbering.
“And the first two were just days apart,” Ben pointed out. “In December of last year. The Patterson shooting didn’t happen until four months later.”
“Okay. So, either that gap was pre-planned, or something happened that caused the killer to pause his activities for a while,” Nathan observed aloud as he wrote notes down one side of the board. “I personally think that something happened that altered his schedule.”
“What makes you think that?” Annie asked.
Nathan shrugged. “Gut feeling.”
His team members looked at one another and smiled, since Nathan Thomas’ ‘gut feelings’ were eerily accurate most of the time.
“Okay, so, after Benji was shot, what was the next location?”
“Fort Belknap,” Lizzie answered. “Where nothing happened.”
Nathan marked it as the fourth location, with an asterisk, and made a note about it on the sidebar.
“Then it was Sally Rutherford, who is connected to Fort Mason,” he concluded.
He stepped back and looked.
“Not really a consistent pattern or logical order of sequencing here,” he told his team. “Do you see it? He started here, in the southwest, at Concho. Doesn’t make sense to me. Why not start at either the top or the bottom of the trail route? Why start at some random point in the middle?”
“Well,” Ben piped up, “Edward Baker’s murder happened the first day of ‘Christmas at Fort Concho.’ Maybe the killer is planning his visits to coincide with certain events at each location?”
“Good thought, Ben. Look into that. Now, what forts has Grant Forrester not visited yet? What’s left on the list?”
“Fort McKavett, Presidio de San Saba, Fort Davis, Fort Stockton, and Fort Richardson,” Annie reported.
“I have an idea,” Lizzie began to say, as her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen.
“This is Kimble Hospital down in Junction calling me back,” she told the group. “I’ll be right back.”
She answered the call as she hustled back to her desk so she could add detailed notes straight into her spreadsheet.
***
Twenty minutes later, she’d rejoined the team in the conference room.
“Not only was the tourist that hit the deer named Grant Forrester,” Lizzie revealed to the group, “but he signed himself out of the hospital in Junction a little over ten hours after he got there. That’s all they’d tell me over the phone without a formal legal document requiring them to disclose his medical records. HIPPA act, and all. I’ve started a trace to determine where he went from there. I also suggest we have the local police go pull prints from his wrecked car for comparison to the other scenes.”
“Lizzie, make the call down to Menard to get his car processed by their techs,” Nathan directed. “And then, go home. All of you. Not much more we can do right now until we can talk to Grant Forrester personally.”
“You sure?” Ben asked.
“I’m sure. If he’s been injured as badly as it sounds like he might have been, I’m thinking he won’t try anything for a while. He’s holed up somewhere, healing. I’d bet money on it.”
“What about getting his medical file from Junction?” Lizzie queried.
“Leave that to me,” Nathan answered. “Seriously, go home, guys. You’ve all put in a lot of hours lately. Go spend the long weekend with your families. Rest up. I have a feeling we’ll all appreciate the break with everything that’s coming next.”
Nathan stopped Lizzie at the door. “What was your idea? You said ‘I have an idea’ right before the hospital called you. What was it?”
“To buy copies of The Best of Texas! magazine’s previous issues,” she answered. “From December through this month. Seems to me the best way to know for sure if he’s toured other forts already is to check for articles about them.”
“Good call, Zim. Take point on it.”
“You bet.”
***
“I adore your family,” Kelly told Grant as they made the drive out to the lake. “Such sweet people.”
“They like you, too, I can tell,” he confided as he reached over to hold her hand. “I knew they would. And that wasn’t awkward, right? Meeting them so soon?”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “As a matter of fact, I was just plotting when I could get you to come meet my family.”
He grinned. “Whenever you’d like.”
“Cool,” she said. “Um... in the meantime, I have a question.”
“Whatcha got?”
“Well, I know you said you’d be willing to help me unpack.”
“I did, and I absolute
ly meant it.”
“And I appreciate it. My question was... um...,” she flushed scarlet as she turned her face toward the passenger window, “did you want to come over in the morning, or... um... just stay the night with me?”
Grant swallowed hard and tried his best to not let the sudden bout of nerves he was having creep into his voice.
He pulled his car into the narrow spot right beside Aunt Trish’s car in front of the cabin, then put the transmission in park and turned to look Kelly’s direction.
“What would you like to see happen?” he asked her softly.
She pivoted her head to look him in the eyes.
“I’d like you to stay the night,” she whispered.
They were both blushing as Grant whispered back, “Okay.”
***
“Hey bestie, I need your opinion on some stuff,” Faith told Lizzie Saturday morning when she called. “I’m trying my best to keep this wedding stuff from getting out of hand but already I’m going a little bit bonkers. Do you know how many different styles of, and I quote, ‘simple’ wedding dresses there are? And flower types, and cake designs... it’s maddening, and I have no idea where to start.”
“Definitely a big racket, designed to part you from your money and sanity,” Lizzie said, and laughed when Faith hissed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. I’m kidding, of course.”
“I know you are,” Faith sighed. “But joking or not, you may just be more on point with that statement than you realize. Rick was looking at all of it with me and said this stuff is the wedding equivalent of trying to pick out ‘white paint’.
“Ouch,” Lizzie exclaimed. “That analogy, I do understand. And it’s a pain. How many freakin shades of white are there? Go try to buy paint and find out.”
“Exactly. And I don’t want this to become a whole big ordeal. Can you please come with me today and help me just keep it simple?”
“I don’t see why not. Hang on a second, let me make sure Donny doesn’t have plans for us today.”
Lizzie glanced at Donny, who shook his head. “I don’t have a thing going on. But tell her I’d like the four of us to get together for dinner tonight, if they’re free.”
Lizzie relayed the dinner invitation, then smiled and gave Donny a thumbs-up signal as she listened to Faith’s response.
“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. See you in a bit,” Lizzie said, and hung up.
“She already sounds so stressed out about it all,” she confided to her fiancé.
“Understandable. I hear it can be quite a task to plan a wedding.”
“I don’t think I want to go through all that,” Lizzie admitted. “I’m not the girliest of girls to begin with, so, I’m not big on the whole big poufy dress thing, for starters.”
She saw his left eyebrow begin to arch, and hurriedly added, “Don’t get me wrong, I still want to marry you. I’m just not sure I want to jump through all these hoops to plan a wedding.”
Donny grinned, closed the newspaper he was reading and took her hands in his.
“Relax, honey. I know what you meant. And whatever you want is what we’ll do. It’s not about what we’re wearing, or the flowers, or even where we are. It’s about me, and you. Everything else is fluff. You wanna go all out? Done, I’m in. You wanna be in jeans and get married at the courthouse? Done, I’m in. You wanna run off to Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator? Hilarious, but still, I’m in. My focus is one hundred percent on saying ‘I do’ to you, and hearing you say it back to me. As long as that part happens, I’m good with whatever.”
“I so love you. I knew you were the perfect man for me,” she told him, then kissed him. “I’m gonna go with Faith and keep her calm and level. I’ll call when I’m on my way back, all right?”
“Have fun, Liz. Meet you back here.”
***
“I think this one,” Faith said, holding up a simple but elegant column dress in a delicate chiffon.
“I like it,” Lizzie answered. “It’s understated, not too busy. Go try it on!”
A few minutes later Faith called out.
“Need help with the back, please.”
“On it,” Lizzie replied, and fastened the ten buttons and two eye-hook closures that Faith couldn’t reach.
“Okay,” Lizzie urged, “step on out there to the mirrors and see what you think.”
Faith followed Lizzie out of the dressing room, taking small steps so she wouldn’t trip on the excess length, and stepped up onto the small pedestal in front of three mirrors.
“I love it!” she exclaimed immediately, turning this way and that to see herself from as many angles as possible. “And with the right heels, I shouldn’t even have to have it hemmed.”
“Do you really wanna wear super-high heels, though. That’s the question,” Lizzie pointed out. “I myself would rather subdue a grizzly bear than be subjected to uncomfortable footwear.”
Faith giggled.
“And the length isn’t that bad, really,” Lizzie continued. “It’s over by two, two-and-a-half inches, tops, maybe? Totally workable.”
The alterations lady walked up as Lizzie was speaking and nodded her agreement.
“Yep, pretty darn close already,” she offered, casting a seasoned eye over Faith’s silhouette. “Not long at all to fix. It’s just a question of if you want your shoes to show or not.”
“And,” Lizzie summarized, “You look absolutely stunning.”
Faith beamed at her best friend then turned to the woman who’d be fixing her hemline. “I’ll take it! Can we please measure the length for one-inch heels that won’t show?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was mid-June before he could take more than a shallow breath without feeling like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He’d only been released from the hospital once his attending physician was absolutely certain no trace of pleurisy remained.
But in many ways, being home again was a hollow victory. The discharge paperwork spelled out in great detail his doctor’s instructions for continued recovery. Healing ribs meant no lifting anything over four pounds, and definitely no punching bag workouts and no shooting for a while. The cracked sternum also required ‘going easy for a while’, as his doctor had phrased it.
He’d reviewed all the surveillance data that had come in since his trip to the hospital in Junction, and at first was disappointed to realize he’d missed his chance at Kelly Moore. When he called down to Fort McKavett and asked for her he’d been told only that she was no longer assigned to that location. No other information had been forthcoming, at least not from the woman that had answered the phone.
Then he’d waded through over three weeks’ worth of phone usage records and discovered Grant and Kelly’s texts back and forth.
She went to Fort Richardson, huh? Interesting. I might still have an opportunity to pay her a visit.
Provided I can take a normal breath without feeling like I’m going to pass out, that is, he chided himself as his sip of tea choked him and made him cough. In an instant he felt like his chest cavity might just rip itself apart.
“They said it’d be a good six weeks, at least, until everything healed.... man, they weren’t kidding,” he whispered to himself as he wiped away the tears that had formed during his coughing spell.
***
Grant had opted to stay in Jacksboro for a couple of weeks to help Bernice with some much-needed maintenance and repairs around the house.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the woman of my dreams lives up here now, he confessed internally, as he worked to patch up and re-stain his mother’s redwood deck. As a matter of fact, I could relocate up here, if I wanted. I’m not tied to my desk anymore like I was as a copy editor...
He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead, take a drink of water, and daydream about a certain curvy blond that he found more and more irresistible.
***
The totaled gray car had yielded all sorts of fingerprints; given that the papers foun
d in the glovebox proved it to be a rental, Nathan was actually surprised more prints hadn’t been lifted.
Still, he mused as he sipped his coffee, fifty-three prints. That’s pretty impressive.
Nathan’s Dallas lab team had been working since right after the Memorial Day break, methodically analyzing every single fingerprint. Of the initial set, fourteen were too smudged to be of any use. Each of the remaining thirty-nine was individually catalogued and scanned in, and a search performed against the nationwide database. Nineteen of the prints recovered from the vehicle lined up perfectly with those left behind at the four scenes detailed on Nathan Thomas’s whiteboard. His lab techs had exercised due diligence in tracing the twenty remaining prints found back to rental car company employees and three prior clients. Intensive legwork had eliminated each of those people from any further investigation.
Now Nathan sat, his fingers steepled, as he stared at his whiteboard – in particular, the map of the Texas Forts Trail – and tried to insert himself into the killer’s mind.
If it were me, where would I go next? And why the hell would I rent a four-door gray Toyota when I already own the exact same car? It’s not like he’s traveling long distances to any of the forts. Why the rental?
“Boss,” Ben called out from the conference room doorway. “I think I’m onto something here.”
Nathan ran his hands over his face, then through his hair.
“Come join me,” he said. “Whatcha got?”
“Well,” his team member began as he walked forward, “I was able to knock another nine long guns off the list. Here you go.”
He handed Nathan a single sheet of paper.
“Would these have to be registered?” Nathan asked.
“Nope,” Ben answered. “Texas has no registry of firearms at all, and our Federal registry only pertains to certain types. And no, none of those are on this list.”
Nathan sighed. “So, the only way we’d be able to cross check against someone’s name is if it was sold by a licensed firearms dealer. Right?”
“That’s my understanding.”
“Dammit,” Nathan muttered under his breath. “We just cannot catch a break.”
His voice returned to its normal volume as he instructed, “Ben, I want you to take that shortlist of weapons you’ve been working on and start digging into sales through licensed dealers. Start by going back twelve months. If a weapon type on your list has any sales, I want them documented as fully as possible. Got it?”
