by Diane Capri
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In my dream, two girls were running through the woods, calling for me—by name. The sounds of their voices echoed around me. The girls came to a door suspended in mid-air between two giant pine trees and knocked on it, even though they could have just stepped around it and been on the other side. I tried to open the door, but it was stuck. The knob turned, but when I pulled back, nothing happened. Their knocking grew so loud it vibrated in my head, forcing me awake.
Someone was knocking on the hotel room door.
I sat straight up in bed and looked around. I shouted for Maddie. There was no reply. And Boo wasn’t on the bed anymore. Maybe Maddie had gone out and forgotten her room key. I threw my robe on and cracked open the door, surprised when it wasn’t Maddie on the other side.
The man in the hallway was an older gentleman, at least twenty years my senior, maybe more. He wore a button-up shirt with a thin, black vest over the top, and a brown cowboy hat that looked like it had gone through the washing machine a few too many times. Around his neck was a tassel-like choker worn in place of a tie with a round piece of solid rock the size of a half dollar dangling from it. His beard was white and slight and most likely trimmed on a daily basis. It made him look respectable and refined, but it didn’t hide his tired, stress-infused eyes.
“Detective McCoy?” I said.
“How’d you know?” the man said with a slight smile.
“Lucky guess,” I said. “You’re Cade’s father, right?”
He nodded. “I was hopin’ I could have a word?”
I stifled a yawn. “What time is it?”
“A little after six in the mornin’,” he said. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I can come back later if you like.”
I opened the door all the way, letting him in. “Give me just a minute.”
I brushed my teeth, saving my daily flossing routine for later. I didn’t want to keep the detective waiting. On the bathroom counter was a note scratched in pencil:
I took Boo for a walk. Back soon.
I pulled on a pair of jeans, zipped up my sweater, and joined the detective in the living room area of the hotel.
“My son says you’re a private investigator,” he said.
“Are you here to ask me to leave? Because if you are, you should know I—”
He shook his head.
“Six months ago, I would have done everything in my power to run you out of town, but now…” He curled one hand over the other, resting them in his lap. “My boy says you had a meetin’ with Noah Tate a few days ago. I’m interested in knowin’ what the conversation was all about.”
I crossed one leg over the other. “I’m sure you’re aware of why Mr. Tate came to see me.”
Detective McCoy removed his hat and placed it on the cushion beside him. “I am.”
“Then what you’re really asking me is whether I know something you don’t.”
He sighed.
“S’pose so.” He leaned back, tugging on a bit of chin hair. “Well, do you?”
“There is one thing,” I said.
Detective McCoy’s eyes electrified, almost changing color. “What did he tell you?”
“I can’t say right now,” I said. “Not yet.”
Detective McCoy contemplated my statement like he was trying to decide what he should do next, which was fine with me. I wasn’t going to tell him either way.
“In all my years of police work, I’ve never had a case like this,” he said. “Sure, there have been a few murders now and again, but not more than I can count on one hand, and none I couldn’t solve. The responsible party has always been obvious. I thought that’s how I’d retire. I’d go out like all the others before me, quiet and unnoticed, without ever having the kind of case that keeps a man up all night wonderin’ if he’d missed something.”
He hung his head and continued.
“Do you want to know somethin’? For a while, I actually felt a little like I’d been robbed, not havin’ a case like this, until I got it. Now I’d do anything to go out as the quiet guy. I feel incapable of doing the job I was sworn in to do. I can’t go anywhere in this town without feelin’ like I’ve let everyone down. I can see it in their eyes every time they look at me. I’ve gotten to know Savannah Tate so well over the months, I feel like she’s my own child.”
The emotions of others had always been hard for me to endure. As a child, the verbal tongue-lashing my sister and I received from our father, combined with the physical abuse he unleashed on my mother, shut me down almost completely, and I never felt like I’d fully restarted. I wasn’t devoid of feelings—I’d always felt an iota of something—but it seemed like it wasn’t ever the same thing other people felt.
“Detective McCoy, I don’t mind sharing what I know. In fact, I want you to know. I just need to speak with Mr. Tate first.”
“When do you plan on seeing him next?” he said.
“I’ll be stopping by his house today. Can we meet up again this evening?”
He grabbed his hat and stood up, pleased with the progress he’d made. He took out his wallet and handed me his card. “My home number is there,” he said, pointing. “It’s the best way to reach me. I’m not much for cell phones. I have one, but I forget to charge the damn thing.”
I nodded and accepted the card.
Detective McCoy hesitated a moment.
“Is there anything else?” I said.
“You’ll have to forgive my boy,” he said. “Cade’s having a hard time seeing me go through all of this. But he doesn’t mean you any harm. He’s just trying to help his old man.”
“Cade said he’ll be taking over your position.”
“Looks like it,” he said.
“Have you worked together long?”
He shook his head.
“Cade went into law enforcement right out of high school, but then he got married and decided to move away.”
“Why?”
“His wife,” he said. “She was determined to live by her family. She didn’t want much to do with ours. I never understood why. But back then, Cade didn’t deny her anything. He would have moved anywhere just to make her happy.”
How very codependent of him.
“And now? How does she feel about living here?”
“Cade’s wife walked out on him a couple years back. Took off with some guy she’d met at work. Left Cade to raise their daughter on his own. That woman just walked out. No note, no warning. She didn’t even bother taking her things. Not that I’m complaining. Finally gives his mother and me the chance to get to know our granddaughter. I’m not gonna lie, we’re glad he’s home.”
The world had changed in a profound way since my grandparents were young. Back then people fought for their marriage, worked things out, didn’t give up on each other so easily. People respected each other. They worked hard, and it wasn’t easy, but they were happy. Most of the time, anyway. That’s what my grandpa had always said.
But things had changed. The world had changed. Men and women were impatient and selfish and rushed. They didn’t like it when things didn’t “feel” right. But instead of taking a long, hard look at themselves and accepting responsibility for their part in the relationship, they fled the scene. At the first sign of trouble, they simply ended things, walked out. Men succumbed to the temptation of another woman, and women abandoned their own children, leaving them for someone else to raise. It was all about me, me, me. There was some level of independence that came with this, but no balance.
Of course everyone didn’t give up so easily, but it was happening all around me: to my friends, my neighbors, my loved ones. I didn’t understand how anyone could behave in such a disrespectful, selfish way and still feel good about themselves. Maybe because it wasn’t in me to do those things. I wasn’t a quitter. My relationships hadn’t always worked out, but when they ended, they ended honorably, and not because I’d been brainwashed into thinking life could be better in someone else’s bed.
&nbs
p; CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mr. Tate had the kind of home that made me question what he did for a living and whether Harrison Ford’s eight-hundred-acre ranch was anywhere nearby, but there were no signs, no Hollywood tour buses, nothing to indicate the Indiana Jones star even lived around there. Maybe that’s what attracted Mr. Tate to the area in the first place. It was quiet and had neighborhoods that reminded me a lot of Park City—with the exception of the magnificent Grand Tetons in the background.
The exterior of his home was made of part stone and part wood, although I couldn’t tell what kind of wood. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. A detached garage sat to the left of the house, and judging from its size, a half a dozen cars could have fit in it. On the front of the house an American flag was bolted into one of the two square wood columns on the porch.
Everything about the area was perfect, except for the black Dodge Ram parked across the street. Obviously my message from the previous evening had not been received. The two of us exited our vehicles at the same time. But Cade was the only person with a smile on his face.
“Mornin’,” he said. “You look…rested.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew you’d show up sooner or later,” he said.
“What if it was later?”
He shrugged.
“I would have waited. It’s not like I have other pressin’ matters to attend to right now.”
“If Noah Tate was interested in talking to you, he wouldn’t have hired me. What do you plan to achieve by hanging around?”
“I figure if anyone can get him to talk to me, it’s you,” he said, pointing in my direction.
“I wouldn’t stick around to find out if I were you.”
He folded his arms.
“You want to find Savannah, don’t you? So do I—so does my dad.” He threw his arms in the air. “Hell, so does everyone. I’ve been thinkin’, maybe if you can get him to talk, I’ll let you work with me.”
He’d let me? I tried to stifle the laugh I felt coming on.
“No thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Now don’t be hasty,” he said. “Just give it some time, let it simmer awhile before you make your final decision. We can talk more about it later.”
“I don’t need your help. And I’m not going anywhere until you leave.”
Cade shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the truck, allowing his cowboy hat to fall past his eyes. “Suit yourself.”
I felt the urge to throw a temper tantrum.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleepin’, I’m tired.” He winked at me. “You let me know when you change your mind, now.”
“I won’t, so you’d better—”
“Sloane?”
I turned.
Noah Tate approached us from behind. “What are you doing here—and who’s this?” he said, thumbing at Cade.
Before I could respond Cade’s hand shot forward. “Pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Tate. I’m Cade McCoy.”
Mr. Tate didn’t shake hands. He didn’t move. Without looking at me he said, “Next time you want to ambush me like this, Miss Monroe, call first!”
A few seconds later his front door slammed shut with a bang, locking us outside.
“Nice job,” I said. “Now he won’t talk to me either.”
Cade pulled on the tailgate of his truck. He eased it down and sat on the edge, patting the area next to him, like I’d be happy to oblige. I didn’t.
“Maybe we don’t need him to talk to us,” he said.
“Trust me, we do.”
He grinned.
“Is this the part where you tell me what you wouldn’t tell my dad?”
I crossed my arms.
“It isn’t.”
Several minutes went by. I stood, Cade sat. I passed the time by trying to decide how I could get Mr. Tate to let me into his house so I could somehow convince him to turn over the letter without involving any more people than I had to.
“It’s been ten minutes,” Cade said. “You got a plan?”
I shook my head.
“Yeah, you do,” he said. “I can tell.”
“You stay here. Let me try and talk to him.”
Cade scooted off the tailgate.
I warned. “Take one more step and I’m leaving, and you can handle Mr. Tate on your own. You’ve been doing a great job so far.”
“Relax,” Cade said, spreading his hands out to the side. “Geez. I’m going to get in my truck. I’ll even close the door if it makes you feel better. Maybe that’ll help things. You can even tell him I’m leavin’ if you like.”
We both knew it wasn’t true.
I approached the front door and knocked. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing, and there was no sound coming from inside, even though I knew at least one person was there. On the third try, the door cracked open. A small child around three years old peeked out.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“How are you?” I said.
“My daddy’s mad.”
“What’s your name?” I said.
She looked down at her hands and whispered, “Lily.”
I knelt down until we were eye level. I’d heard once that little kids were more receptive and comfortable when adults didn’t tower over them like giants. Kids felt better when an adult lowered themselves to their level. “It’s nice to meet you, Lily. My name is Sloane. I’m a friend of your dad’s. Do you think you could get him for me?”
She glanced to the side, opening the door. “Come on.”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know if I should—”
“Come on, come on!” she insisted.
Lily turned and skipped down the hall yelling, “Daddy… daddy…daddy.”
But daddy didn’t come. So I went to him. I found Mr. Tate in his office, his eyes glued to a magazine, even though he wasn’t reading, not really. I made a fist and tapped gently on the open door.
“You’re fired, Miss Monroe. You have no right being in my house. Please go.”
I sat in a chair across from him. “Hand over the coloring page and I will.”
“It’s no longer in my possession.”
“Of course it is,” I said. “You wouldn’t let a precious item like that out of your sight. Give it to me and spare your family the embarrassment of having your house searched. Once the police know what you have and how it links up with the other kidnapping, they’ll get a warrant, and you’ll have cops all over this place. Is that what you want?”
He sighed.
“It doesn’t concern you anymore.”
“Of course it does,” I said. “I keep my word, Mr. Tate. And we had a deal. Firing me doesn’t change anything.”
He hurled the magazine to the side of his desk, but his aim was weak. It slid off the side, falling to the floor. I picked it up and set it down in front of him.
“I thought I was hiring a private investigator,” he said. “Obviously, I was mistaken. You said you wouldn’t involve the police.”
“I haven’t.”
Not yet.
He pointed toward the window. “That McCoy kid is the police, is he not?”
I nodded.
“He’s the one who’s been trying to talk to you. And just so we’re clear, I was as surprised as you when he showed up here today. If you spent two seconds listening to our conversation, you would have understood I was only trying to convince him to leave.”
Mr. Tate raised a brow. “What’s he doing here?” he said.
“Cade followed you the other day. He saw us meet at the restaurant and watched you hand me the money.”
“He followed me?”
“He’s trying to take over things for his dad.”
Mr. Tate’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned forward in his chair. In a lowered voice he said, “Why?”
“Detective McCoy Senior is retiring. Cade will be assuming his position, and he had some crazy idea that if he showed up here with me, you
’d give him a chance. After today, they’ll be involved whether you like it or not, but how you choose to go about it is up to you.”
I heard a swishing sound like sandpaper being scraped across a wood floor. Mr. Tate shifted his gaze from me to a woman standing in the doorway. She was pale and thin, and her hair was matted, as if it hadn’t been brushed in days.
“Noah, what’s going on?” She gazed in my direction. “Who’s she?”
Mr. Tate rose from his chair, a look of genuine concern and guilt on his face. “No one, honey. Go back to bed, okay?”
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Lily said, pulling on the ruffle of the woman’s nightgown.
“Mommy’s tired now, Lily,” Mr. Tate said. “Go play, and I’ll make you a sandwich in a few minutes.”
“But I don’t want a sandwich,” Lily said, stomping her foot on the ground, “mac and cheese, mac and cheese!”
“I don’t have time for that, sweetheart,” Mr. Tate said.
“I do,” I said.
All three of them looked over at me, understandably stunned.
At that moment, the doorbell rang. I had no doubt about who was on the other side of the door.
Sit in his vehicle and wait, my ass.
Mrs. Tate gripped the side of the door so tight I thought if she let go, her knees would buckle and she’d tumble to the ground.
“Miss Monroe, I’m sorry to ask,” Mr. Tate said, “especially after the way I’ve treated you today, but do you think you could help my wife back to her room?” He pointed toward the hallway. “It’s the last door on the left.”
I nodded, looked at Lily, and said, “I’m going to take your mommy back to her room, and when I’m done, we’ll see about making some macaroni and cheese, okay?”
The idea of a stranger offering to cook a meal was apparently too much for Lily to comprehend. She covered her eyes with her hands, pretending I wasn’t there, and then backed out of the room, her Dora the Explorer slippers bouncing up and down as she turned and ran down the hall. I didn’t blame her one bit.
